LIBRARY OF CONGRESS^ 

— PS lOSR. 
%p iop^risll TItt. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



I 



Changing Moods 



Jin Uerse anU E^sme. 



BY/ 



WM. HUNTER BIRCKHEAD. 



'T is not a cultured hand that holds the pen ; 
But then, 't is one that 's honest, and means well. 

SANTOS. 





CAMBRIDGE: 

JOHN WILSON AND SON. 

©nibersita ^re«8. 

1888. 



Copyright, 1888, 
By Wm. Hunter Birckhead. 



CTo nxg WIU, 



AS A SINCERE TRIBUTE TO HER LOVE AND 
DEVOTION, 

THIS LITTLE VOLUME 

IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 

NEWPORT, R. I. 

June, i8S8. 



PRELUDE. 

Some critic not too great or good, 
I humbly pray, may feel in mood 

These lines to read ; 
For if a high and mighty man 
Such untaught lays should chance to scan. 

What hope indeed I 

I cannot claim the poefs fire ; 
J could not hold Apollo's lyre ; 

I wish I might I 
These errant rhymes that taxed my powers 
Are but the work of idle hours 

Long passed from sight. 

But if some kindred spirit sees 
Within this book a thought to please, 

'Tisall lask. 
And now to those who care to read, 
I leave, of praise or blame, the meed, 

And close my task. 



CONTENTS. 



— • — ■ 

PAGE 

The Drummer-boy ii 

Friendship's Likeness i8 

Sunrise 20 

A Storm — on the Sea-coast 22 

Tears 2;^ 

To a Swallow 24 

A Remonstrance 31 

Two Shadows 34 

Time's Impress 37 

Snow-flakes 39 

To W. N. H 40 

A Score of Years Ago 42 

Pale Twilight 44 

Separated 45 

Not Forever 46 

Daddy 47 

Two Words 50 

A Cradle-song 51 

Incentives 52 

Gone 53 

Faith 55 

The Dance of the Clover 60 

Love's Way 63 

To a Rain-drop 64 

Two Hearts 66 



Vlil CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

A Question 67 

The Owl 68 

Aweary 69 

The Wave 71 

Love's Planting 79 

Lines Written on a Bust of Socrates . . 81 

Aphorisms 83 

Alone 85 

Day's Light 87 

To a Beautiful Woman 90 

Love's Witchery 91 

The Signal-gun 92 

To Whittier 95 

A Mother's Heart-cry 96 

A Thought 98 

An Interior 100 

A Song of Longing 102 

Baby 104 

As I Looked out of the Window .... 106 

Eventide 108 

Love's Content no 

The Merry Days in 

Some Types 113 

Once-upon-a-time 122 

Consent 124 

Sunset 126 

A Heart-throb 12S 

And Then? 129 

Her Likeness 132 

Life's Boat-song 133 

Temptation 134 

Insight 136 

A Hypocrite 139 



CONTENTS, IX 

PAGE 

A Song 142 

Her Coming 144 

Stranded 146 

My Den 148 

Twilight 150 

From the Story of a Hackney-coach . . . 152 

Aspiration 157 

Saved 158 

Recompense 161 

He. — A Soliloquy 163 

Certain People 166 

Asleep 168 

Would I? 169 

We Sing but a Song 171 

He Comes 173 

Content 175 

To J. R. S 176 

Our Hopes 178 

She. — Exactions iSo 

Self-conquest 182 

Lines Written on the Fly-leaf of " A Day 

in Athens with Socrates" 183 

Love and Pain 184 

A Book's a Book 185 

Reconciliation 187 

Hunting-song 189 

Somebody 191 

Go, Warrior, go ! 193 

A Conceit 195 

An Echo 196 

Confession 197 

Waifs 198 

Ariadne 200 



X CONTENTS. 

KottScnse=E!)s«ics, etc. 

PAGE 

The Critic's Brush 225 

The Bumble-bee 227 

Martha Starr 229 

The Twins 230 

The Parson's Wooing 233 

Tempus Fugit 235 

Epitaphic 236 

The Mouse and the Lady 237 

Contradictions 238 

Two Kinds of Tea 239 

A Plain Hint 240 

Flora 241 

I. Ell— Hell 243 

n. Potato 243 

HI. Cigarette! 244 

IV. Manikin 245 

V. Dryden 245 

^ .S'i(Fr.), yap (Gk.), et (L.) = Cigarette. 



THE DRUMMER-BOY. 



AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR OF THE REBELLION. 



The meagre space of the field hospital 
Was far beyond its limits taxed that day, 
When soldiers fought, when soldiers fell 

in fight. 
Their wounded comrades other comrades 

bore, 
Some in their arms, some on rude 

stretchers laid. 
— A rough board thrown quick across 

two fence rails, 
Or perchance a piece of battered canvas, 
Firm grasped at either end by stalwart 

arms, 
Was all they had; while some, whose 

fate it was 



12 THE DRUMMER-BOY. 

To be less sorely hurt, were e'en content 
To totter, by the aid of friendly shoulder, 
Their way towkrd the open tent, apart, 
Where ready hands their bleeding wounds 

might stanch. 
— And how rough men their roughness 

cast aside. 
And gentle as the gentlest woman were 
In aid they gave, and even in their 

speech. 
It marvels much to tell; but so it was. 
And as, in turn, each one received the 

care 
Which kindly science sought to give, you 

oft 
Might hear, from throats nigh parched 

with loss of blood. 
Such words as these : " He 's worse than 

I ; leave me 
And go to him ; " or else some one, who 

knew 
His span of life was nearly spent, would 

say. 
His voice so faint 'twas hard to catch 

the sound, 



THE DRUMMER-BOY. 13 

" Why linger with the dead ? the living 
claim 

Your aid ; " and thus these noble souls 
would vie, 

Unconsciously, in deeds of heroism. 

— While thus the throng of wounded men 
its way 

Maintained, a huge backwoodsman, once, 
— from Maine — 

A soldier now, and sergeant too, for 
deeds 

Of valor done, pushed his strong path 
beyond 

The crowd, and struggled for a foremost 
place 

Around the spot where skilful men es- 
sayed 

The fight of science against death — and 
won 

Full oft, when all the odds were not ad- 
verse. 

In his great arms the giant bore a child, 

For so he seemed, albeit a drummer's coat 

Enveloped him, and in his hands he 
grasped, 



14 THE DRUMMER-BOY. 

Unconscious, two bits of wood, one 

broken, 
And both besmeared with blood. He 

laid the boy 
Upon the ground; but first spread out 

his cloak, 
To make the place perchance less cold 

and hard. 
Then, looking full into the surgeon's face, 
As he would probe its utmost truthfulness. 
Apart somewhat he drew him from the 

crowd, 
And bending low, in whisper choked and 

hoarse : 
"Save her life, and God will bless you 

for it; 
Guard her honor as a sister's, cast by 

love 
Beyond her sphere ; for pure she is as 

one 
Of God's own angels ! No more now." 

Then turned. 
His face stern set and hard as if with pain, 
And glancing once again within the tent, 
As 't were to see if all were well, he sped 



THE DRUMMER-BOY. 15 

Toward the booming of the cannon on 
The hill, and soon was lost to sight of 

all. 
— The battle raged, and men and 

brothers fought 
In fierce contention, while the daylight 

waned 
Around them; but as evening fell, some- 
what 
The noise of conflict ceased, and men 

took pause 
To breathe. 'Twas then a dying man 

was brought. 
And laid with tender care within the tent 
Which served the hospital to form ; and 

all 
The giant soldier straightway knew, 

while he, 
In gasping breath and faintly, "Where 

is she .^ " 
And then they told him she had died, and 

wondered 
At the look of joy which came upon his 
Weary face ; at which he closed his eyes, 
and 



1 6 THE DRUMMER-BOY. 

With a sigh he slept ; and so death took 

him. 
And those around still wondered at his 

look, 
So peaceful, and of such a great relief. 
— They did not know how frorn his 

home, to him 
Unknown, that same slight form that he 

had borne 
So madly through the crush of men and 

all 
The tumult of the fight had followed 

him ; 
How too, to share his love, she sought 

his death 
To share, and, cutting off her woman's 

hair, 
Had donned a drummer's uniform, and 

thus 
Enlisted as a soldier ; and into 
Battle too she went with him unbidden. 
And strove to keep.beside him in the fight ; 
And thus her fate o'ertook her ere she 

knew. 
But now she was not left alone, to bear 



THE DRUMMER-BOY. 17 

The brunt of her disclosed sex, but slept 
In death, with him she loved, to part no 

more. 
And this he knew ; and so, all dread for 

her 
Removed, his look grew calm, and then 

— he died. 



1 8 FRIENDSHIP'S LIKENESS. 



FRIENDSHIP'S LIKENESS. 

Two hands — joined across the line 
Separating yours and mine ; 
'Twixt their Hves no shadows fall, 
Each one trusting all in all. 

Two hearts — tuned to bear alike 
Any blow that fate may strike ; 
Be it gladness, be it pain, 
Both together share the strain. 

Two minds — keen the thought to trace 
In each other's tone and face ; 
Bearing what a comrade may 
In his kindness dare to say. 

Two souls — kindred in their aim, 
Though they differ, yet the same ; 
Each one, craving noble ends, 
To its fellow, helping lends. 



FRIENDSHIP'S LIKENESS. 19 

Two lives — striving with their might 
To live nearer to the right ; 
Seeking, for the other's sake, 
Each his life more pure to make. 

Such as these may dare to claim 
All that's meant .by Friendship's name,— 
Joined in heart and mind and soul. 
Single units of one whole. 

Free from all self-interest they ; 
Free from passion's heated sway; 
Free from bickering and strife, — 
Their true love befits their life. 



20 SUNRISE. 



SUNRISE. 

Lo ! the day is gently waking 

In the cradle of the sun ; 
Like a weary sleeper rousing, 

When the night's long rest is done. 

In the east the sky is lighted 
By a dim, uncertain glow; 

And the clouds are tinged with colors 
Such as only angels know. 

On the earth the mists are creeping 
Slowly o'er the distant hills, 

While a solemn silence lingers, 
Broken by the babbling rills. 

One by one the stars are fading 
From their places in the sky ; 
All their weary watch accomplished, 
What have they to do — but die ? 



• SUNRISE. 21 

Hark ! the birds and insects piping 
Make their chorus to the morn, 

While the lazy breeze goes whispering 
Through the fields of waving corn. 

Redder grows the wide horizon, — 
Brighter, in the tinted east, 

Crowned with all the glowing radiance 
Of a royal bridal feast. 

Slowly comes the lingering monarch 
From his couch of rosy down ; 

And the day, in blushing colors, 
Hands to him his golden crown. 

Now the birds with louder chirping 
Each one to his mate doth call, 

And the myriad sounds of Nature 
Give sweet answer to them all. 

Lo ! the mists are fading faster 
In the glow of yellow light, 

And the sun, in all his glory, 

Bursts upon our wondering sight. 



2 2 A STORM. 



A STORM — ON THE SEA-COAST. 

Loudly rolled the echoing thunder, 
And the livid lightnings flashed; 

While the wind in savage fury- 
Through the creaking tree-tops crashed. 

Mountain-high the waves were surging 

In their wild, inhuman glee, 
Filling mortal hearts with terror ' 

For the people out at sea. 

Harshly screeched the sea-gulls, circling 
Wide and wider in their flight ; 

And all Nature, swayed by passion, 
Trembled in the wavering light. 

Then a sudden lull, one moment, 

While the wind withdrew his breath ; 

And a murmuring silence, broken 
By a crash as fierce as death. 



TEARS. 23 

Brighter flashes now the lightning ; 

Quicker come the thunder-quakes ; 
And the gale, in loosened fury, 

With triumphant echoes breaks. 

Now the rain pours down in torrents, 
And the world is lost in night ; 

Given over to the madness 

Of the Storm- King's blasting might. 



TEARS. 

Quick to come, quick to go, 

Easily the tears flow, 

When, God's mercy — we are children. 

Hard to come, hard to go, 

Weary do the tears flow. 

When no longer — we are children. 

None to come, none to go. 
Naught can make the tears flow : 
Wrinkled age claims us — God's children. 



24 TO A SWALLOW. 



TO A SWALLOW. 

Bird of our summer sky, 
Why dost thou fly so high, 
Then, darting down again, 
On thy wings wide open. 
Seem to coquet with men? 
Oh, tell me why ! 

Say, from what happy home 
Hast thou to mortals come ? 
Was it from tropic clime. 
Crowned with the fig and lime, 
Od'rous with fragrant thyme. 
Saffron and gum ? 

Or is a colder zone 
That which thou fain must own ? 
Matters it little, though. 
Sunshine or arctic snow, 
So now thou dost not go. 
Leaving us lone. 



TO A SWALLOW. 25 

How wert thou made so bright, 
Ghding thy graceful flight, 
Cleaving the air in glee. 
Freest of all things free, 
Breathing wild poesy. 
Born of delight ? 



Motion's divinity 
Sure must preside o'er thee. 
How every sweeping curve, 
Formed by thy buoyant swerve. 
Perfect in mould and nerve 
Shows thee to be ! 

Each stroke thy rapid wings 
On the soft ether flings, 
Limning in unseen lines 
What, could we read the signs 
Surely would teach our minds 
Beautiful things. 

What if thy song be slight ? 
In thy wide-darting flight 
Naught can with thee compare ; 



26 TO A SWALLOW. 

Painting upon the air 
Pictures so bright and fair, 
Traced out of light. 



How thou dost glide and dart, 
Pause and curve, turn and start ! 
Oh, what bewildering strokes 
Thy varying course provokes ! 
As though thou fain wouldst coax, 
Some air-god's heart. 

Now, o'er the waving trees, 
Racing the summer breeze, — 
Then, from thy dizzy height. 
Dropping, more swift than light, 
Down to the earth, — a mite, 
Skimmino: the leas. 



Dost thou e'er kiss the grass ? 
So close thou seem'st to pass, 
Methink'st thou must indeed. 
And e'en the violets heed. 
In thy low-flying speed, 
Deep as they mass. 



TO A SWALLOW. 27 

Like to no mortal force 
Is thy swift-changing course. 
Fairy-like motion fair, 
Guiding thy way in air, 
Holding thee balanced there, 
Never at loss. 

Like to a falling star, 
Seen through the mists afar; 
Darting to earth alight, 
Shot by the arm of night. 
Forcing with sudden might 
Heaven's gates ajar. 

Like to a gliding sail, 
Sped by a favoring gale, 
Floating the sea along, 
Urged by the currents strong, 
Lulled by the mermaid's song, 
Chanting its wail. 



Like to a rocket's course 
Curving the sky across ; 
Tearing the veil of night, 



2 8 TO A SWALLOW. 

In its wild, wayward flight, 
Leaving a trail of light, — 
All golden floss. 

Like to a startled maid, 
Fluttering her wings, afraid. 
As in her whispered ear 
Love words she first doth hear. 
Which, though they sound most dear. 
Make her dismayed. 

Like to the even way 
Such love may hold some day, 
When, from all doubt set free, 
Glorious its course shall be ; 
Strong in its constancy. 
Scorning decay. 



Happy thy little hour, 
O bird of joyous power ! 
And though thou build a nest 
Where all thy loved ones rest. 
Yet motion is thy zest. 
And grace thy dower. 



TO A SWALLOW. 29 

Long ere the break of day 
Upwards thou tak'st thy way, 
Hastening the sun to greet, 
As from his golden seat 
Darkness he bids retreat 
'Neath his clear ray. 

Then with thy joyous swirl 
Quickly thy wings unfurl. 
And through the morning's mist 
Thou as a vision flitt'st, 
Like a bright amethyst 
Fronted with pearl. 

Men say thou hast no soul, 
And that thy earthly goal, 
When once thou findest it. 
Holds all that Holy Writ 
For such as thee deems fit, — ■ 
Here is thy whole. 

Yet it seems hard to feel 
So much of joy and zeal 
No other home should know. 



30 TO A SWALLOW. 

Save this poor world below : 
Think'st thou this can be so, 
Without appeal ? 

Ah ! then, but come and go, 
E'en as the flowers blow, 
E'en as the sunshine, too. 
And the soft evening dew. 
These all are emblems true : 
Be thou also ! 



A REMONSTRANCE. 31 



A REMONSTRANCE. 1 



In this sad day, when men write so-called 
verse, 

That drags more slowly than the fateful 
hearse ; 

When hireling couplets grow from starv- 
ing pens 

More fast than eggs from stately coop- 
fed hens ; 

When every pale-faced youth, from college 
freed. 

Deems his slow Muse a Pegasus indeed ; 

When brainless critics praise, for lucre's 
sake, 

The vapid maunderings of some moneyed 
rake, — 

1 On being asked to review 2 book of very 
indifferent verse. 



32 A REMONSTRANCE. 

'Tis time, indeed, some other pen than 

mine 
Should raise the standard for the Sacred 

Nine, 
And drive from off Parnassus' storied 

heights 
Such worthless bantlings, with their 

pigmy flights. 



" Divine afflatus " oft their text includes, 
But Folly over all their efforts broods ; 
Like hunchbacked mothers, whom the 

gods deny, 
Their flimsy offspring are but born to 

die. 
Men would be rhymsters, rhymsters 

would be bards ; 
And yet, forsooth, the fools must show 

their cards, 
And prove that all their limnings, though 

well daubed, 
Are merely copies, from some master 

robbed : 



A REMONSTRANCE. 2>?> 

Chameleon-like they shine in borrowed 

hue, 
Their thoughts but parodies, their verse 

untrue. 
Whate'er their hopes, they merit naught 

but scorn ; 
The poet is not made — he must be born. 



34 TWO SHADOWS. 



TWO SHADOWS. 

I. SUN SHADOWS. 

One summer's day, without designing, 
Two shadows met in the village street, 

And danced along its grassy lining 
In manner decorous and meet. 

High noon was near, and folk were 
passing 

Upon their errands to and fro ; 
And this these sober shadows glancing 

Upon the pathway seemed to know. 

They moved along with steady motion, 
The bright sun shining far between, 

And gave to none the slightest notion 
Of aught that might not well be seen. 

The one seemed taller than the other; 

Nor yet so graceful in its pose. 
Perhaps it was the smaller's brother, 

Perhaps its cousin — but who knows ? 



TWO SHADOWS. 35 

And so they flitted on demurely, 
Far out into the hastening day ; 

And left no trace, to tell securely 
Their purpose or their destined way. 



II. MOON SHADOWS. 

The bright full-moon the world was 
lighting 

With all its soft, enticing glow, 
When o'er a hedge, their play inviting, 

Two shadows frolicked to and fro. 

Far softer were they than those playing 
Their hide-and-seek at early noon ; 

And yet in some way, there 's no saying, 
The air seemed singing the same 
tune. 

The country lane they shared, unfet- 
tered. 

No prying footstep lingered near, 
And so they deemed it little mattered 

How to the moon they might appear. 



36 TWO SHADOWS. 

Their outlines wandered close together 
As on the hedge they moved along ; 

And something seemed their waists to 
tether, 
As notes in music join a song. 

And then, they moved so slowly onward ! 

And now and then an upward look 
Was covered by another downward ; 

And other curious forms they took. 

How different were they from the 
morning ! 

And yet the same, I trow, they be ; 
For ere the summer's leaves were falling, 

Sweet Elsie pledged her troth to me. 



TIME'S IMPRESS. 37 



TIME'S IMPRESS. 

Our age is not told by the years, 
But by something far subtler within ; 

By a something, unknown, except to 
ourselves, — 
Our soul-fight with suffering and sin. 

Men seek for the age of the oak, 

But vainly they look for time's seal, 
Until deep in its heart do they carry 
their quest, 
When they see what their search 
would reveal. 

There each decade of Hfe is marked out, 
In close-lying circles outlined ; 

And its birth is a thing but easily told 
When once its heart-secrets we find. 

And who is there knows not the truth, 
The sad, sad truth we all learn, — 



38 TIME'S IMPRESS. 

That the gray-turned hair and the feebler 
step 
And the furrowed brow, each in turn, 

Tells a tale of its own to our souls, 

Whose words we need not repeat, — 
That the years are naught when com- 
pared to the strife 
Of a smothered and anguished heart- 
beat ? 

Like the blows of a trip-hammer's weight 
As it rises and falls in its course, 

As it crushes the metal beneath 
With its fierce, invincible force. 

So each heart-throb that beats in our 
breast, 
O'erweightedby sorrow and sin. 
Batters down e'en the years of our life 
With the mipress of things that have 
been. 

Oh, happy the babe at the breast, 
And happy the children at play ! 



SNO W-FLAKES. 3 9 

Let them joy while they can, in their 
innocent glee, 
While God's angels keep troubles 
away. 



SNOW-FLAKES. 

Oh, who can know where the snow- 
flakes go ? 
Some, indeed, help to form the white 

snow, 
Falling so soft and falling so slow ; 
While others again 
But melt into rain. 
Dropping like tears wherever they go. 

But who can know where soine snow- 
flakes go ? 
Those who weary of life as they blow, 
And never reach to the earth below, 
But up in the sky 
So silently die, — 
Oh, who can tell where these snow- 
flakes go ? 



40 IN ME MORI AM. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

W. N. H. 

He was a friend indeed, 
With all a friend's best virtues shining 
bright ; 
It was no broken reed 
You leaned on when you trusted to his 
might. 

I know of what I speak, 
For well I knew, and loved him too, for 
years ; 
And though it may seem weak, 
I yet can scarce think of him without 
tears. 

His earnest nature spoke 
In all he did, and ruled him through and 
through ; 
And failure never broke. 
But urged his powers e'en greater things 
to do. 



IN MEMORIAM. 41 

His soul was free from stain; 
As bright and pure and clean as man's 
can be ; 

No sordid thought of gain 
Could ever tempt its manly purity. 

His mind, almost too keen, 
Was ever searching something more to 
know ; 

And sometimes, too, I ween, 
A thought original was his to show. 

His heart was true, — so true 
To those he loved, that naught disturbed 
its trust. 

Whatever they might do, — 
Unless they proved unfaithful or unjust. 

And so he passed away, 
Beloved of men, at peace with God; and 

I,- 
I could not bid him stay ; 
But still I hope to meet him by and by. 



42 A SCORE OF YEARS AGO. 



A SCORE OF YEARS AGO. 

In the days when I went courtin', 
How merry the time did flow ! 

In the days when I went courtin', 
A score of years ago. 

We wandered by the seaside, 
And on its waves did row, 

And floated on our love-tide, 
A score of years ago. 

We met whene'er we chanced to. 
And that was oft, I trow, 

For it needed but a glance to, — 
A score of years ago. 

By day or night to greet her 
My steps were never slow ; . 

And the moonlight was far sweeter 
A score of years ago ! 



A SCORE OF YEARS AGO. 43 

No task was hard but waiting 

Till "next time " we might know; 

For love's youth scorned belating, 
A score of years ago. 

And when, at last, I faced her, 

She said nor yes nor no ; 
But in my heart I placed her, 

A score of years ago. 

And naught has ever broken 

That first and holy glow 
In which our love was spoken 

A score of years ago. 

And should fate frown upon me, 
I '11 heed nor weal nor woe, 

So I 've the lass who won me 
A score of years ago. 

But where 's the use of talkin' ? 

I ween I 've said eno' — 
Oh, lucky was my courtin', 

A score of years ago ! 



44 PALE TWILIGHT. 



PALE TWILIGHT. 

Pale Twilight, clad in mantle misty-gray, 
Comes, like a sad-faced nun, at vesper 

call, 
And for a moment lingers on the earth. 
Uncertain whither she shall wend her 

way. 

One hand she gives to Day and one to 

Night, 
In vague mistrust, till doubt at length 

prevails ; 
When, with slow-stealing step, from both 

she flees, 
And in the hazy distance fades from sight. 

And Day and Night, each baffled, turn 

away 
In wondering silence at her sudden 

flight, — 
The one, to rest until to-morrow's sun ; 
The other, to assert her dark imperious 

sway. 



SEPARA TED. 45 



SEPARATED. 

It may be we shall never meet in life, 
So far apart our paths now seem to lie ; 
And yet, O Love, methinks I fain could die 
Unvexed, might I just once but call thee wife ! 
Just once ; and then, full satisfied, the knife 
Oblivion holds might strike, and I scarce 

sigh; 
And yet perchance 't were sweeter thus to lie 
Enwrapped in hope, and free from love's 

fond strife. 
For now, I hold thee so thou canst not change 
E'en if thou wouldst, while I may dream 

thee true. 
And if on earth our lives no hope may show. 
They may beyond if God but so arrange. 
And we can wait — the years will be but 

few — 
And when we meet, no parting need we 

know. 



46 NOT FOREVER. 



NOT FOREVER. 

O Love, it may not be. Our weary feet 
Must learn to walk apart and seek to hide 
In what is right all other thought beside. 
And yet to us is given a life complete ; 
For like two brooks, whose waters never 

meet, 
But in their joyous course flow side by 

side 
Until they mix at length in ocean's tide, 
So may we too our various ways entreat, 
And passing on together through life's 

waste, 
Not one, but two, yet seeming to be one. 
So pure our faith, so high our hope to win, 
Find at the last our wandering paths so 

traced. 
That into Heaven's great ocean they 

shall run — 
And there our lives may meet and know 

no sin. 



DADDY, 47 



DADDY. 

There's a something about the word 
Daddy 
That gives to my heart-strings a pull, 
Though I hear it but carelessly spoken, 
Though my brain is with others things 
full. 

It is not or grand or euphonious. 
And it lacks in a deference, we know ; 

But 't is sweeter, in accent and utterance. 
To me, than all other words show. 

I first heard its small prototype babbled 
By lips which were rosy and soft. 

And which ne'er were content with one 
prattling, 
But the sound loved to multiply oft. 

And it grew to be almost a language. 
Whenever I happened in sight; 

And 'twas Dada, and Dada, and Dada, 
All over the house, day and night. 



48 DADD V. 

And was talking more sweet e'er invented, 
Or that went more direct to the heart ? 
'T was a tongue that was taught by the 
angels, 
And which they to the earth did im- 
part. 

And in time, as the summer days, waning, 
One year to another did add, 

A laughing, impertinent treble 
Developed the Dada to Dad ; 

And I had not the heart to rebuke it, 
Though I know 't would more proper 
have been ; 

But it fitted so well her who spoke it, 
'T would have pardoned a far greater 



So it easily grew into Daddy, 

And remained so, by custom grown 
strong, 
Through the few happy years that were 
left it 
To sing out its life's joyous song. 



DADDY. 49 

And one morning I heard it but faintly ; 

And another, it came not at all ; 
And then — but God dealt with me gently, 

Or else I had fallen, like Saul. 

And the house, it was drear in its stillness, 
It mattered not night-time or day ; 

There was naught to disturb the lone 
silence. 
Save the echo of things passed away ! 

Oh, yes, there is something in Daddy 
That I never can wish to forget ; 

Though it speak to me ever so sadly, 
'T is a voice to love's best music set. 

And I hear it when others are talking, 
And in dreams, too, I catch its sweet 
tone; 
For there 's something, there 's something 
in Daddy, 
That is spoken to my heart alone. 

4 



so TWO WORDS. 



TWO WORDS. 

Home and love are but little words, 
But make they not the whole world bright, 
As e'en God's sunshine seems more light 
When 'livened by the song of birds ? 

And more, indeed : to them respond 
The chords of life, — the power to do, 
To bear, to win ; and something, too, 
Higher than these, — something beyond. 



A CRADLE SONG. 51 



A CRADLE-SONG. 

Hush, hush, he 's sleeping ; 

And in the gloaming, the angels roaming, 

Peep softly in, 
And night-dews, weeping, 
The flower-buds stopping, pause in their 
dropping, 

For fear of din. 

Hush, hush, he 's sleeping, 
And o'er his slumbers, with magic 
numbers, 

The fairies weave, 
Their love-songs steeping, 
His eyelids closing in sweetest dozing. 

Ere yet they leave. 

Hush, hush, he's sleeping; 
So softly breathing, in rest's enwreathing. 
No sound he makes. 
Safe in His keeping, 
Whose love undying is our relying. 
Until he wakes. 



52 INCENTIVES. 



INCENTIVES. 

Wait : to those who wait, time will relent ; 
Keep whole thy patience, break it not, 
And ere thou deem, thou find'st the spot 
Where opportunities consent. 

Trust: to those who trust, all things 

prove true. 
Have faith, and faith will make thee strong, 
So strong, indeed, 'twill not be long 
Ere thou shalt do that thou wouldst do. 

Dare : to those who dare, fortune gives 

hand ; 
Be brave, and shrink not to do right : 
This thing alone will give thee might, 
And help thee fate itself withstand. 

Reap : those who would reap, such rule 

must own, 
And thus success shall call them friend ; 
If not, and failure be the end, 
Their effort shall their loss atone. 



GONE, 53 



GONE. 

I CRIED out to the days of my youth, 
But no answer came back to my cry, 

Save the pattering sound of the rain on 
the roof, 
And the moan of the wind-spirit's sigh. 

And again did I call, but more faint. 
For something within me held back ; 

But still naught did I hear save the rain- 
drop's plaint. 
And the wail of the storm-driven wrack. 

And a consciousness swept me across, 
So sudden 'twas like unto pain ; 

And I called no more, for I was not at 
loss 
Why I heard but the wind and the rain. 

And I sat in my silent despair. 
And wondered — and gazed at the sky ; 



54 GONE. 

While a voice swept by on the rushing 
air, 
Which seemed whispering the words, 
" Good-by ! " 



And the rain still beat on the roof, 
And the wind still murmured its cry ; 

But naught did I hear save the steps of 
my youth 
As they fled to the years gone by. 



FAITH. 55 



FAITH. 



There doth to every one belong, 

Though we would fain own no such 
thing, 

A yearning as for something strong 
To lean upon unquestioning. 

It matters not what his degree, 
Or high, or low, this truth is sure,— 

No man of woman born can be 
Unto himself a perfect law. 

And so, in natural sequence, then, 
Some other one he seeks to find, 

Whose strength shall strengthen his again. 
And guide him when his path is blind. 

And this implies a perfect trust 
In him he hopes may help his way ; 

For doubt, e'en shadowed, ever must 
Forbid all faith and tempt dismay. 



5 6 FAITH. 

And perfect trust must be begot 
Of perfect love in him we trust; 

For otherwise his hand might not 
Prove true to do the things it must. 

But where, then, shall we look to know, 
Upon this earth, such man as this, — 

One who of power possessed shall owe 
No thought to self, nor act amiss ? 

Nowhere, indeed, can one be found; 

So is it, that when doubts arise, 
Bewildered do we look around 

Until our gaze reveals the skies ; 

There, now we feel, one Being dwells, 
Who joins to wisdom perfect love ; 

And ever, as our conscience tells. 
His willing help sends from above. 

And thus we grow from doubt to faith. 
All other things but proved untrue. 

Until we rest in God at length 
The yearning that so long we knew. 



FAITH. 57 



II. 



For faith is but the perfect trust 

Which God's great love compels us to ; 

When once we learn, as learn we must, 
How little we ourselves can do. 

It is the symbol of our will 
Laid tribute at the feet of Him 

Who cares for e'en our smallest ill, 
Though worshipped by the Cherubim. 

It is the precious aftermath 

Of pride, cut down by failure's sword ; 
It is the light across the path 

That leads up to the throne of God. 

It is the outcome of the heart 

When, with its weakness face to face, 
It lays aside its coward's part. 

And humbly bends the knee to grace. 

It is a childlike thing, forsooth. 
Yet fraught with power beyond our ken ; 



58 FAITH. 

For it bespeaks eternal truth, 
And brings down God to live with men. 



Divine in essence as in use, 
A gift, not bought, but freely sent 

To those who, casting all else loose, 
Accept God's promise as 't was meant. 

It saves our souls from dead despair. 
When grief, too mighty, holds us down ; 

The conqueror's part it makes our share, — 
To wrest from suffering hope's bright 
crown. 

God's angel, lifting up our strength 
When trampled in the crush of life jui 

Enabling us to gain at length 
Safe exit from the mortal strife. 



III. 



Its being lives in God's behest 

Acknowledged to our hearts within. 

And springs from out the need of rest 
Which He alone can give — from sin. 



FAITH. 59 

Its home is in the chastened heart, 
Content to feel that God is just ; 

Who will not from His word depart, 
But gives His peace to those who trust. 

Its strength from man's own weakness 
springs, 

And thus a constant force supplies ; 
And in the hope its presence brings, 

Its power of help and quickening lies. 

Its creed suffices for its quest, 
And is of grand simplicity, — 

He who all wisdom is, knows best ; 
He who all love is, kind must be. 

Its pride is in humility, 
And self-surrender is its joy; 

Its outgrowth is sweet charity, — 
The love of man, without alloy. 

It gives us peace while life doth last ; 

It gives us hope when death doth come; 
And when this world is overpast, 

We know that faith will lead us home. 



6o THE DANCE OF THE CLOVER. 



THE DANCE OF THE CLOVER. 

See how the clover blows, red and white 

clover, 
Courting the joyous breeze, bending it 
over ! 
Bowing with stately grace, 
Each towards its neighbor's place, — 
Sweet-scented clover ! 

Coyly the laughing wind urges the 

dancing, 
Towards every clover-top, slyly advan- 
cing, 
Till on the carpet green 
Such sight was never seen, 
Young and old prancing ! 

Gayly they nod and turn, careless of 

graces, 
With but the thought of joy on their 

bright faces, 



THE DANCE OF THE CLOVER. 6i 

And, as the music flies, 
Faster they fall and rise, 
All in their places. 

Butterflies, hovering near, hasten away, 
Droning bees, honey-bent, care not to 
stay; 
Tossed by the quickening breeze, 
Frightened, they seek the leas, 
Filled with dismay. 

Dew-drop and lady-bug, hurled from their 
hiding. 

Float away into air, seeking abiding. 
Naught, though, the clover heeds, 
As through the dance it speeds, 
Of their faint chiding. 

See ! to a quicker strain fast are they 

flying. 
Dancing for life and death, yet never 
dying ; 
Whirling to right and left. 
As of all sense bereft, 
Every nerve plying. 



62 THE DANCE OF THE CLOVER. 

Then comes a sudden pause, — all is 

now over ! 
For the gay frolic wind proved but a 
rover, 
And each, with drooping head, 
Sinks in its grassy bed — 
Good-by, sweet clover! 



i 



LOVE'S WAY. dZ 



LOVE'S WAY. 

Love hath no seasons or to come or go ; 
All times are his, with none to say him 

nay ; 
The humor seizes him for frolic play, 
And lo ! a dart is sped ere yet we know. 
Then quick our blood's slow current is aglow 
With maddened impulse which we may not 

stay ; 
And naught indeed will now its smart allay. 
Save one sure thing — if but perchance it 

show, 
Some heart, like-wounded, beating with our 

own. 
To it the power is given Love's dart to draw. 
When, oh, so great our joy, it doth atone. 
Beyond all scope, the pain we knew before I 
And now, no longer bleeding or alone, 
We laugh at Love, and fear his bow no 

more. 



64 TO A RAINDROP. 



TO A RAIN-DROP. 

Rain-drop, oh, rain-drop, what wouldst 

thou say. 
Tapping so wistfully on to the pane ? 
Knocking and knocking, again and again, 
Art thou afraid of the winds at play ? 

Or art thou driven against thy will. 

And forced to do what thou wishest not? 

Dost thou moan thy home in some cloud- 
lined spot, 

Or long to be with thy mates in yon 
rill ? 

Why patter so sadly thy constant tap. 
Pattering, tapping in pigmy might, 
Shedding thy tears in a mortal's sight, — 
Wast hoping to rest in some fairy's lap ? 

Or hast thou a message thou fain wouldst 

bring 
From the storm-cloud's home, — some 

voice to earth, 



TO A RAINDROP. 65 

That thus thou art striving to force to 

birth 
With the steady rap, rap, thou dost sing? 



I cannot tell, but patter away ; 

To me thou com'st as a lullaby ; 

And the muffled sound of thy gentle 

cry 
Soothes me to rest in its threnody. 



66 



TIVO HEARTS. 



TWO HEARTS. 

Two hearts went out upon the heather, 
To watch the sunset's glories fade ; 
And while their watching thus they made, 
By some strange freak they came to- 
gether. 

Two had they come, but home retreating, 
One single shadow seemed to flit ; 
And — how shall sages reckon it ? — 
Only orie heart was loudly beating ! 



And yet, the cottage door wide swinging, 
Two figures in the hall-way stood ; 
And — was it night birds in the wood ? — 
Two voices seemed a love-song singing. 



A QUESTION, 67 



A QUESTION. 

Who then am I, to stem 
With my disproval what a man would do, 
When, placed as he, I, too. 
The same thing might enact I now con- 
demn ? 

And yet how prone to urge 

Itself as judge is this same I, called 

man, 
Not his own sins to scan, 
But with self-righteous lash others to 

scourge ! 



One spoke, in ages past, 

Whose words of wisdom men might well 

recall, — 
" Let him, among you all. 
Whose hands are free from sin, the first 

stone cast." 



6S THE OWL. 

But no one moved to strike, 

And no one spoke, for all felt guilt con 

fessed. 
Oh, what a sad unrest 
Would be our lot if judged in manner like ! 

Forced we should be to hide 

Our conscience-smitten heads far out of 

sight. 
Is it not then more right 
To judge, if judge we must, on mercy's 

side ? 



THE OWL. 

" Too-WHiT, too-whoo ! " is his cry by 
night, 

And he sings not through the day; 
So all we get from his owlship's might 

Is " Too-whit, too-whoo " alway. 

And thus it is with most of us here, — 

We utter our little note. 
And then we silently fall to the rear, 

And into the ages float. 



1 



AWEARY. 6g 



AWEARY. 

Wood-ferns, anemones, violets, too, 
Sing to me, tell me, oh, what would you 

do, 
Loved not your loved ones to welcome 

you home. 
Tell me, O snow-drops, oh, where would 

you roam ? 

Bluebird and sparrow and little brown 

wren, 
Come sit beside me, deep down in the 

glen ; 
Oh, had you not each one your own 

homely nest, 
Tell me, O robin, oh, where would you 

rest ? 

Tell me, ye winds, as ye blow through 

the trees. 
Tell me, O brook, on your way to the seas, 



70 AWEARY. 

Speak to me, spirits of cloud and of air, 
Whisper me softly, is life worth despair ? 

Answered the wood-fern, answered the 

jay, 
Answered the brook, as it sped on its 

way : 
" Dark though the night be, dawn comes 

at last ; 
Trust then the future to banish the past ! 

" The bright bow of hope is e'er set in 

the sky 
In token of helping, when faith seems 

to die; 
And all things are possible, think we 

but so, 
To the strength of a pleading our heart- 

strinpfs well know." 



Anemone, violet, king-bird, and wren, 
Brooklet and wind-spirit, tell me again ! 
And lo ! while they whispered so soft 

through the air, 
Joy filled her happy heart — gone was 

despair. 



THE WAVE. 71 



THE WAVE.i 

I DANCE o'er the sea in my joyous glee, 

And I frolic the shores along, 
While on my white crest the mermaids 
rest, 
And chant out their weird song. 
I roll the sand far up on the land. 
And form the glistening beach, 
And strew it with shells and the sea- 
weed's bells, 
With the salt dew clinging to each. 
In the caverns deep, on the rocky steep, 

I boom and echo in thunder. 
And my dripping spray around them 
doth play. 
As I toss my arms asunder, 
While the bright drops fall, like a silver 
pall. 
On the wave-nymphs swimming under. 

1 Suggested by " The Cloud." 



72 THE WAVE. 

The fisherman's boat I gently float 

In its search for the scaly treasure ; 
And the yacht's white sail on my bosom 
doth trail, 

Whose search is for naught but plea- 
sure. 
And I lap the side, in my gurgling tide. 

Of the ocean's monster ship, 
Who deems it but play, as she steams 
on her way. 

In my dark-green surge to dip. 
But let her beware if ever she dare 

To cross my angry path ; 
The frolic wave that her keel doth lave 

Is a sea-god in his wrath. 

I bathe the feet of the maidens sweet 

As they gambol upon the shore. 
And the swimmer strong I buoy along 

As he seeks the breaker's roar. 
The sea-birds rest, as though in their nest, 

On the curve of my swaying form, 
And I rock them to sleep, on my bosom 
deep. 

In a cradle soft and warm. 



THE WAVE. 73 

And I sing the song of the ages long 

As a lullaby to each, — 
The sound of the waves as they break 
in the caves, 

Or surge on the sandy beach. 

I make my home mid the white sea- 
foam, 
And I joy in the rushing surf ; 
On the sunken reef, that moans its grief, 
I 've played since the day of my birth. 
I race with the gale, and I toss up the hail, 

As it falls on my gleaming breast. 
And day nor night was ever the sight 

Of the waves in perfect rest. 
I watch the sun in the course he must 
run, 
And I give him a home at night ; 
I laugh with the moon and grant her, as 
boon, 
To sway the tides — for her light. 
The bright stars and I both sing to the 
sky. 
When night o'er the earth throws her 
pall, 



74 THE WAVE. 

And in my dark sheen they oft twinkle 
at e'en, 
Like the lights at a fairy ball ; 
And the phosphorous glare that some- 
times I wear 
Is the token I show at their call. 

The dawning day, as it hastes away, 
Its first greeting to me e'er gave. 
And the golden gleam of the sunset's 
dream 
Prints its good-night kiss on the 
wave. 
And the gentle dews around me diffuse, 

And sink in my lap to rest, 
And the tinted glow of the rain-cloud 
bow 
Reposes upon my breast. 
I gather the snow, as it falls so slow, 

And it sleeps in my heart for aye. 
And the drops of rain I welcome again 

As they come back from the sky; 
I pluck the flowers from the ocean's 
bowers. 
Where their wilful beauty hides. 



THE WAVE. 75 

And I bear them afloat in their pink- 
shelled boat, 
To deck the sea-kings' brides ; 
And I roll up the pearls they wear in 
their curls 
When they swim in my rippling tides. 

But I glory most when the fiery host 

Of the tempest-king come down, 
And challenge my play, by night or by day, 

For the prize of the sun-girt crown. 
'T is then in my might I rise up to fight, 

And I laugh as my strength I feel ; 
I gather my force, and heed not remorse. 

As I see the air-spirits reel. 
The lightning's blight sinks down in 

o o o 

affright 
As it touches the plumes of my crest, 
And struggles in vain, with its scorching 
train, 
My onward march to arrest. 
I greet it with scorn, and ere it be born 

'T is wrapped in a watery shroud. 
And mutters the groan of its dying moan 
In the thunder's echo loud. 



76 THE WAVE. 

The wind's wild force against me doth toss 

Till its breath gets faint and low, 
But onward I roam in my chariot of foam 

Till the winds are forced to go ; 
And with howls of despair they rise into 
air, 
And flee from the conquered field, 
While proud to the blast my white pen- 
non I cast, 
And clang on my victor's shield. — 
And the tears of pain that they send 
down in rain 
Show the punishment they share, 
When the news they bring to their 
rugged king 
That the waves have beaten the air. 

But oft in my breast, after such unrest. 

My passion is hard to quell ; 
And I long, in my wrath, to follow the 
path 
Of the war-god's mighty spell. 
I swell with my pride, and scorn to 
glide. 
As in days when I feel more humble. 



THE WAVE. 77 

But surge on my way and scatter my 
spray, 
And rage and tremble and tumble. 
And rising on high I challenge the sky 

Or the air or the earth to fight, 
And when none make reply I pass them 
all by, 
And wrestle my comrades' might; 
And we spend our strength on each other 
at length, 
Or chase one another from sight. 

Oh, fierce is the power, in my angry hour, 

That hurries my course along, 
And oft I regret, when my wild moods 
set. 

The doing of so much wrong. 
To seize the whale by his fluky tail 

And hurl him aside is naught ; 
But to sweep off the boats as if they 
were motes 

In a rushing tideway caught, 
Or to tear a great ship, in my maddened 

grip, 
Or to kill in my angry strife, 



78 THE WAVE. 

Is a woful thing, and ever must bring 

A sadness over my life ; 
And this is the cause, as it breaks on the 
shores, 
Or booms o'er the distant lee, 
Of the sad, sad tone in the wild waves' 
moan, 
That always comes up from the sea. 



LOVE'S PLANTING. 79 



LOVE'S PLANTING. 

Oh, Love is like the roses, — 
It buds to-day and blooms to-morrow ; 
And then there comes a time of sorrow, 
Which of it quick disposes. 

Oh, Love is like the plane-tree, 
Whose growth is slow but ever greater ; 
And as it grows, it grows but straighter, 
And storms assail it vainly. 

So, maidens fair, take warning, 
And if you hope your love be lasting, 
And safe defy the world's cold blasting, 
Mark well its day of dawning. 

Well placed, it stands forever, 
And if the soil be only worthy. 
Its life will be both brave and sturdy, 
And time can change it never. 



8o LOVE'S PLANTING. 

But if 't is planted badly, 

In ground that 's loose and meanly 

shallow, 
No bloom its branches e'er will hallow, 
And you shall rue it sadly. 

Then choose its home, oh, kindly, 
And nourish it with hearts e'er faithful ; 
And then to you 't will prove so grateful 
That you may trust it blindly. 



ON A BUST OF SOCRATES. 8 1 



LINES WRITTEN ON A BUST 
OF SOCRATES. 

O Socrates, 
Whose God-touched ear, unwitting, 

pressed so close 
Against the doorway of a future age, 
That, listening, thou didst catch the far- 
off breath 
Of what the coming years conspired to 

teach ; 
Who, dying, died not, conscious, as thy 

hand 
Unshrinking grasped the poisoned cup 

and pressed 
It to thy lips, it held not Death but Life ; 
Wisdom and Truth's self-chosen votary, 
Standing alone, yet ever standing firm 
Mid scoffing crowds and ignorant dispute, 
Till martyr's death crowned for thee 
life's stern faith, — 
6 



f 



82 ON A BUST OF SOCRATES. 

Thou art not dead, though buried ages 

make 
A mighty mound 'twixt thee and us. 

Thy lamp, 
Still burning, sheds to-day its pale, pure 

rays 
Unchanged, illuming all the centuries 
From then to now. 



APHORISMS. %i 



APHORISMS. 

Be true : he who is true is strong, — 
Strong in himself, without the aid of men, 
And holds a buckler which shoots off 

again 
The bitterest shafts of enmity and wrong. 

Be pure : he who is pure shall feel 

An inward consciousness naught else 

can give, 
'Twill keep him blest so long as he 

shall live, 
And after life shall God's own self reveal. 

Be kind : and kindness will come back. 

The pity which for others now you know, 

Will, when your want cries out, uncalled- 
for show, 

And, helped threefold by love, nothing 
you'll lack. 



84 



APHORISMS. 



Thus live : and life will hold no tear 
Unbalanced by a joy, save those which 

flow 
In chastened gladness, as we learn to 

grow 
Nearer to God, and farther from things 

here. 



ALONE. 85 



ALONE. 

I SAW a boat sail on the sea, 
But not upon the shore was I, 

For I was far away ; 
And yet I saw what then I saw, 
As plain as now one face I see 

Which by me e'er must stay ; 

For 't was the face of one I loved, 
And 't is the face of one I love, 

And in the boat it was ; 
And gayly looked and gayly spoke, 
And thought no thought save joy ; 

And then there came a pause. 

The white sail shifted, and it hid 
My face one moment from my sight ; 

And when I saw again, 
A storm had risen, and the boat 
Upon rude waves was tossed about. 

And trembled like an aspen. 



86 ALONE. 

And dark clouds rolled across the sun, 
And loud the harsh winds screeched in 
glee, 

And hoarse the thunders roared ; 
While bolts of flame, with zigzag flash, 
Went hurtling through the startled air, 

And fierce the rain down poured. 

And then I saw my face no more — 
Save once when, such as angels wear, 

A smile upon it shone ; 
And some one called my name aloud, 
And darkness came, and well I knew 

That now — I was alone. 



I 



DAY'S LIGHT. 87 



DAY'S LIGHT. 

Did ever you think how the light of day 
Varies in its differing play 
As it takes its joyous way 

Onward toward the west ? 
See the morning sunlight clear, 
Rosy-red and full of cheer, 
Fresh and pure and always dear, — 

Think you 't is the best ? 

Nor too cold nor yet too hot, 
Glorious-bright yet dazzling not, 
Happy in its happy lot, 

Banishing the night ; 
Singing its sweet song at dawn 
To the day so newly born ; 
Bidding us to hope, not mourn, 

As we arm for fight. 

And the noonday sun with its yellow heat, 
In its fierce down-pouring beat. 



88 DAY'S LIGHT. 

Glorying in its sway complete 

O'er the land and sea. 
In it now no thought of play, 
As when first it met the day ; 
No frolic game with color's ray, 

In merry, happy glee. 

Naught it seems but molten fire, 
Urging an intense desire. 
Working as 't would never tire 

Till its task be done ; 
Pouring floods of scorching light 
To the left and to the right, — 
Thus it rages, at its height. 

Wondrous noonday sun ! 

But as westward now it slowly descends, 
From its fierceness it unbends, 
And a gentler greeting sends 

To the weary earth ; 
And the evening's golden sun 
Seems not like the self-same one 
That the noontide looked upon, 

But some newer birth. 



DAY'S LIGHT. 89 

Soft it shines in radiance fair, 
Painting gleam-tints on the air, 
Drawing pictures here and there, 

Framed in golden haze ; 
Flitting bright among the trees, 
Casting shadows on the leas, 
Laughing with the passing breeze, 

Full of joyous ways. 

Now, in color's brightest glow, 
To the world it fain would show, 
And its bravest glances throw 

Ere it seeks its rest. 
And in tender, gentle rays 
Softly o'er the earth it plays, 
Till it sinks, one glorious blaze, 

In the waiting west ! 



90 TO A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN. 



TO A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN. 

Fair Queen, dost know thy power for good 

or ill ? 
No other queen holds sway so wondrous 

great ; 
Thy bidding speaks to men of love and hate, 
And prompts their untrained hearts to spare 

or kill. 
As thou mayst hint in thy imperious will. 
Thou hast a gift as mighty as is fate, 
Which, while it lasts, proclaims thee potentate. 
And failing, leaves behind its influence still. 
Oh, mayst thou then so use it, gracious Queen, 
That naught befall thee, so thou curse the 

day 
When first thou learned that Beauty was thy 

right ; 
But, as thou art so glorious in thy mien, 
An equal glory may thy deeds display, 
And thus thy virtues shall sustain thy might. 



LOVE'S WITCHERY. 91 



LOVE'S WITCHERY. 

What spell so uses Love, that we go mad 
Though he but gently touch us with his 

hand ? 
The bravest and the best cannot withstand 
The softest prick from Cupid's magic gad, 
But seem, the more the smart, to be more 

glad. 
'T is witchery indeed that, thus unmanned, 
We fain are forced to yield to Love's demand ; 
But know ye one who ever said 't was sad ? 
As men dig gold from stubborn rocks and 

soil. 
And passing it through fire, shed off its 

dross, 
So Love doth seek, within our harsher 

mould, 
Those crystals, deeply hid, which ever foil 
All other power to find, and yet whose loss. 
Thrice purified by Love, outweighs all gold. 



1 



92 THE SIGNAL-GUN. 



THE SIGNAL-GUN. 

Ringing on the air of night, 
With a fierce, despondent might, 

The boom of a single gun ! 
Ringing on the air of night, 
From a something out of sight, 

Hark ! another, second one ! 

Men have heard, whose hearts are stout, 
Men whose courage none may doubt, 

But they backward shrink aghast; 
For the night is black without. 
And the waves, with maddened shout. 

Answer to the storm-wind's blast, — 

While throughout the angry sky 
Bolts of flame careering fly 

With portentous, dazzling glare ; 
And the thunder's hollow cry. 
Rolling, echoes far and nigh 

On the heavy, murky air. 



< 



THE SIGNAL-GUN. 93 

Builded craft there may not be, 
Could hope to live in such a sea, 

Or its crushing wrath abide ; 
Yet the lightning's savage glee, 
Flashing on the rocky lee. 

Shows a boat has gone outside. 

God in mercy help their way, 
Who such fearful task essay 

On a night as fierce as this ; 
Struggling through the blinding spray, 
Tossed by giant waves astray. 

While around the mad winds hiss ! 

Ringing on the air of night, 
With a fierce, despondent might. 

The boom of a single gun ! 
Ringing on the air of night. 
From a something out of sight, 

Another and another one ! 



At the dawning of the day 
On the beach two corpses lay, 
Washed up by the rising tide ; 



I 



94 THE SIGNAL-GUN. 

Humble fishermen were they, 
But they did what few men may, — 
To save others, they had died. 

All undaunted by the might 

Of the seething waves that night, 

They had saved the shipwrecked crew : 
Hero work and hero fight : 
But they called it simply right, — 

These men and two other two. 

And, their task well-nigh complete, «H 

Mid the driving rain and sleet, 

And the ocean's maddened roar. 
These two, swept from off their feet, 
Sank beneath the storm-wave's beat, — 

All the rest safe reached the shore. 



Lowly graves received them here. 
Lowly tears fell on their bier. 

And they faded from earth's sight ; 
But an angel's pen wrote clear, 
Placed to Christ's name very near 

Theirs, who died for men that night. 



TO WHITTIER. 95 

TO WHITTIER 

ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY. 

Watchman for eighty years upon life's plain, 
What of the day, what of the night, hast 

learned ? 
So long thy mind upon thy task hath turned. 
So long thine eyes have watched the wax and 

wane 
Of changing seasons come and go again, 
That what thy faithful vigil hath discerned 
Must be such knowledge as may not be 

spurned. 
Speaking to man in no uncertain strain. 
— But lo ! the lesson which thy life doth teach 
Is here while yet we ask : " Do what is right, 
And trust all else to God." 'Tis simple 

speech. 
But holds within it sense of wondrous might. 
If men but keep thy life-words well in reach 
No useless watch is thine, of day and night. 



w 



96 A MOTHER'S HEART-CRY. 



A MOTHER'S HEART-CRY. 

In the great world of men — 
Ah, boy, God guide thee then, 
When thou art called to fight thy way 
In the great world of men. 

Pitiless and selfish, 
Unheeding, scornful, cold, 
Is the great world of men, 
With naught but self on which to clasp 
their hold. 

No mother's love can help thee there. 

Or answer to thy call, 

Except by prayer — 

In the great world of men. 

Alone must thou or rise or fall; 

And which it be 

None there will care, 

In the great world of men. 



A MOTHER'S HEART-CRY. 97 

Alone, save that forever 

At thy side His love shall go, 

Whose hand has guided thee thus far so 

safe, 
Since thou didst draw thy first faint baby 

breath. 
Lose not this love, dear boy, but trust it 

so. 
As naught else thou shalt trust on earth, 
And 'twill not fail thee, nor through life, 
Nor yet in death ; and from all harm 
'T will shield thee, then, e'en when thou 

strugglest 
In the great world of men. 



98 A THOUGHT. 



A THOUGHT. 

A THOUGHT is borne within the brain 
By impress that so subtle is and quick, 
That ere it is we know it not, 
Nor whence, nor how, but only that it is. 

And this strange thing is happening now, 
Was happening then, and will endure 

with life ; 
And e'en in sleep we think and think, 
But do not grasp our thoughts unless in 

dreams. 

And so, too, though they seem to fade. 
They never die, but live again when 

called 
By memory to our aid or use. 
And lo ! each day doth multiply their 



A THOUGHT. 99 



Where then, indeed, shall be the end? 
For as we speak their meaning into 

words. 
Or breathe it only to our souls. 
One thought, by contact, breeds another 

thought. 

And this is constant while we live ; 
Then others, having taken thoughts 

from us, 
Increase them likewise, and they go 
From them in greater number on through 

time. 

Thus is it that since man first spoke 
No thought has died ; but through the 

centuries. 
Augmented in a ratio grand, 
It lives to-day, and wanders through the 

world. 



lOO AN INTERIOR. 



f 



AN INTERIOR. 

The lamp burned bright on the table, 
And the curtains were closely drawn, 

While the wood-fire crackled upon the 
hearth. 
Of hickory logs long-sawn. 

And the shelves of books, o'ercrowded. 
Looked a welcome as though they spoke, 

As the old high clock in the corner 
Gave forth its nine-o'clock stroke. 

And the portrait above the mantel 

Gazed down in ancestral pride. 
And smiled at the wild-flowers set on the 

desk 
Some well-known ink-spots to hide. 

And a terrier lay on the rug. 

Close-crouched to his mistress's chair, 
But his eyes held out an expectant look, 

Which he seemed to want her to share. 



AN INTERIOR. lOi 

And she paused in the book she held, 
As a sound she listened to hear, 

And the dog gave a start and a bark of 
joy 
As the carriage-wheels drew near. 

And they crunched on the gravelled path, 
And stopped the front door beside, — 

And a cheery voice and a well-known 
step. 
And a door flung open wide. 



102 A SOA'G OF LONGING. 



A SONG OF LONGING. 

HAPPY winds, as ye wander about, 
With the sunshine glad for your guide, 

And wrestle the leaves from the autumn 
trees, 
And then scatter them far and wide ! 

How fresh is your sound to my weary 
ear, 
So brimming with frolic and glee ! 
Oh, would that with you I also might 
float 
Far away to the shining sea ! 

1 can see it glimmer, from where I sit, 
And the boats, as they glide along; 

And the great white gulls, with their 
wings outspread ; 
And I hear the fisherman's song. 



A SONG OF LONGING. 1 03 

And I know there are children on the 
beach 
As happy as little elves. 
But alas, for the sick and weary of 
earth, — 
They have no one but God and them- 
selves. 



I04 BABY, 



BABY. 

Oh, you happy, idle mortal, 
Playing round Life's golden portal. 
Whose to-day knows no to-morrow ! 
What to thee is sin or sorrow ? 

Flower of love and hope and beauty. 
Scorning work and scorning duty, 
Filling all our hearts with pleasure — 
Oh, you blessed baby treasure ! 

Making home where'er thou turnest, 
Making life a thing in earnest, — 
With thy prattle so unmeaning, 
Yet so full of wondrous seeming. 

Prince of tyrants ! all uncaring. 
Ruling with a rod unsparing, — 
May you sometime prove deserving 
Of such patient love and serving ! 



BABY. 105 

May God's angels round thee keeping, 
Guard thee waking, guard thee sleeping. 
Guide thee safe, through life's offending, 
To that life that knows no ending. 



io6 AJV IMPROMPTU. 



AS I LOOKED OUT OF THE 
WINDOW. 

AN IMPROMPTU. 

The sun was shining bright, 
And the snow was faUing light, 

But distihctly. 
And every snow-flake ghnting 
In the sunshine's merry tinting 
Seemed like diamond dust descending 
In a shower never ending. 
Up and down the crystals flew. 
Right and left they dazzling blew, 
Such a wild, uproarious crew, 

Traversing the sky. 
Flickering through the limpid air, 
Flying, glancing everywhere. 
With a kind of glorious stare. 

Sailing low and high. 
Still the sun shines, still they fly. 



AN IMPROMPTU. 107 

Rushing fast or slowly by, 

Setting Nature's laws awry, 

Sun and snow together ! 

Neither to the other bending, 

Each its own career defending. 

Which will yield, when comes the ending. 

Diamond flakes or sunshine's rays ? 

How I wonder, as I gaze ! 

Was there ever, ever, ever. 

Such abnormal winter weather ! 

Newport, R. I., Feb. 17, 1888. 



io8 EVENTIDE. 



EVENTIDE. 

Low falls the sunset's parting gleam, 
All mellow in its tinted glory, 

And the little babbling stream 

Whispers sweet its good-night story. 

Birdlings soft are in their nest, 
Resting 'neath the mother's wing, 

For they looked out toward the west. 
And felt sure they must not sing. 

Bees and butterflies have flown 
Far away from mortal sight. 

And the night-wind makes its moan, 
Restless to begin its flight. 

In the air, the hush of eve 
Lingers o'er the tired earth, 

And the daylight's spirits leave. 
Conscious of their vanished worth. 



EVENTIDE. 109 

In the sky, a single star 
Glimmers like a beacon-light, 

Showing, through the mists afar, 
Heaven's first sentinel of night. 

And the dew-drops diamonds fall, 
Gleaming bright on leaf and flower, 

While the lengthening shadows call 
Silently the vesper hour. 

Peace, peace, peace, the whispering air 
Breathes on all things great and small ; 

And the echoes, everywhere. 
Softly answer — peace for all. 



no LOVE'S CONTENT. 



LOVE'S CONTENT. 

How art thou fair, O Fair ? I scarce can tell. 
I love thee so, I do not care to know ; 
E'en as God's flowers in their beauty grow, 
I deemed thou too, O Love, must grow as well. 
Thine eyes are blue like sapphires, and their 

spell 
Holds witchery I would in vain forego. 
Thy rippling hair is golden in its glow 
As gold fine-spun, and as it would compel 
The snowy whiteness of thy smooth-laid skin 
To mock the rose, the red blood paints thy 

cheeks. 
But though I thus might all thy charms 

disclose. 
Where is the need? thy virtues lie within. 
Who seeks the treasure hid 'neath mountain 

peaks 
Heeds not the wayside flowers the pathway 

grows. 



THE MERE Y DAYS. I n 



THE MERRY DAYS. 

Quick as the flash of a loud-booming gun, 
Bright as a ray from the bright noonday 

sun, 
Strange as a dream when the night-sleep 

is done. 
The glad days of our youth go by. 

Blessed with a joy that no other days 

know, 
Springing to life as the wild-flowers blow. 
Careless, unheeding, they come and they 

go,— 
The days that can never return. 

Tinted with colors so varied in tone. 
Holding a promise they only may own, 
Happy and joyous, how soon are they 
flown, — 
The bright, merry days of our youth. 



.r hearts 



SOME TYPES. 113 



SOME TYPES. 



There are such men as deem a flow of 

words 
Speaks Genius' self, and tributar>' forms 
To fame's bright stream; and so they 

overwhelm 
With speech of tongue or pen their 

fellow-men ; 
Such are not wise to trust as guides or 

friends. 
Their very constant babbling makes them 

weak ; 
It drains their tissues e'en too fast, and 

leaves 
The soil but dry in which to grow ideas. 
A mass of writing, like a mass of lead, ^ 
Must make impression ; but the stamp it 

bears 
Will rest upon the die beneath, which 

marks 



114 SOME TYPES. 

It out, in lines that cannot be effaced, 

A thing of glory or a thing of doom ; 

And all its bulk adds not a feather-weight 

To make it good, be not the goodness 
there. 

Yet through a senseless ignorance, or 
worse, 

Through blind-eyed vanity, from self out- 
sprung. 

These men take heart to think, too oft 
indeed. 

That from the pregnant juices of the 
world 

They shall crush out by force the flatter- 
ing taste 

Of hard-earned reputation — and they 
fail! 

Small wonder too ; for if but words might 
count 

As pediment on which to rest secure 

Fame's mighty column, then, i' faith. 

The veriest babbler might its height 
essay, 

By virtue of his power of constant speech. 

And e'en the dictionary's self compete. 



SOME TYPES. 115 

And win the prize their wordy efforts 

claim. — 
And better oft 'twould be for all mankind 
If thus the sapient contest might con- 
clude ! 



And then there be another set of men 

Who, wrapped in learning's shroud, seem 
like to die 

Unless each word they utter, in its sound 

Shall punctuate some meaning of their 
own, 

Beyond the ken of common minds to scan ; 

And which they feel none other but 
themselves 

Could speak as well, — in truth, could 
speak at all. 

And then they turn in wrath upon man- 
kind, 

Because they see not as they see, forsooth, 

Nor hear as they would fain to have them 
hear ! 

Such men as these are silent, self-con- 
tained, 



Il6 SOME TYPES. 

And feed upon the weaknesses they 

loathe ; 
And thus their diet constant disagrees, 
And keeps them in a ferment of abuse, 
And acrimonious belchings 'gainst the 

world ; 
And yet they claim, but fairly, Wisdom's 

gifts ; 
And if her gracious mantle they might 

wear 
More courteously, upon their bodies 

placed. 
And not drawn, caul-like, over their wise 

heads — 
Which thus shuts out their sight from 

things without. 
And leaves them only introspection's 

gaze — 
They might see things which now they 

never see, 
And have a wider scope from which to paint 
Their narrow canvas with their views of 

life. 
But too much learning is a dangerous 

thins: ! 



SOME TYPES. 117 

And when 'tis helped by other circum- 
stance, 

As wounded vanity or fretted pride, 

Becomes intolerant, and speaks itself 
awry 

In language unbecoming and perverse. 

And even Genius' self may sometimes 
dwell 

Within such brains, nor deem its home 
unfit; 

Like lighted lamp within a cloistered cell, 

Whose rays shine out upon the world 
beyond. 

Obtruded by the gratings they must pass. 

And men gain guidance through the 
darkening night, 

And care not that the light distorted is. 

III. 

Behold this man, if man he may be called ; 
A name which fits him better would 

destroy 
His very racehood, yet still leave to him 
Some seeming semblance to his present 

guise. 



Ii8 SOME TYPES. 

But let it pass ; he 'd heed it not, if 

named. 
Taking life's canvas in his bloodless 

hands, 
He paints out conscience with the brush 

of self, 
And gazing calmly on the view it gives. 
Is satisfied to live and breathe and be, — 
Thus much, no more ; for more he can- 
not do. 
His heart is but a sack that once held 

blood, 
And claims no function now except to 

beat. 
Self is his god, and at its narrow shrine 
He pays the only worship he bestows. 
No thought for others e'er his breast 

invades. 
Except so far as they his aims may 

help. 
What aid he might to them extend is 

naught 
To minds like his, and enters not his 

view. 
In very fact, he cannot feel at all. 



SOME TYPES. 119 

Or will not — save the feelings look 

within ; 
His polar star is but his own sweet self, 
Which in the same direction ever points. 
And so life passes with him; and at 

last, 
When he has breathed and touched and 

seen and heard 
And tasted self in all its varied forms, 
Perchance for years of satisfied content, 
E'en self palls on him, and he dies, for- 
sooth, 
From pure inanition, since no longer 
Can he swallow even self ! And is there, 
Think ye, on the broad face of this our 

earth 
One heart to bid him stay, or mourn his 

loss ? 
Not one, I ween ! Doth such fate tempt 

thee, friend ? 
Then do not thou as he. 



I20 SOME TYPES. 



IV. 



And still another type remains to tell, 
That well its hard-earned gains deserves 

to hold ; 
Or be they laurels from the bough of 

fame, 
Or baser flowers off the tree success, 
It matters not, for both are honest spoils, 
And know their place in virtue of their 

right. 
The chiefest claim this class of men 

maintains 
Is based upon their work, their power to 

do; 
And this they share with conscience in 

their lives. 
And thus do merit all their actions find. 
Whatever talent, great or small, may add 
To their endeavors, matters but to them, 
In way of ease, in their appointed task, 
And gains them quicker praise for quicker 

work. 
The work itself is done as sure without ; 
Whether it be a sermon they would write, 



SOME TYPES. 121 

Or guide the ploughshare through the 

fallow soil. 
They battle earnestly with life and hope, 
And grumble not at failure overmuch, 
Though cherishing success, but try again, 
And e'en again, if disappointment comes. 
Such men must win at last, and ought to 

win ; 
For brave endurance is a gift from God, 
And like the sunlight shines with strength 

divine. 
And warms the earth into a giving mood. 



And thus these types increase ; these are 

but few 
From out their number, and do multiply 
Until they form mankind, each one of 

whom 
Doth play his given part upon life's 

stage. 



1 2 2 OXCE- UPOX-A- TIME. 



ONCE-UPOX-A-TIME. 

Is there a time in life compares to that 
Which watches slyly over plighted love ? 
So sly indeed its watch lest it disturb. 
It never shows itself, and hours play tit- 
tat, 
As around the dial the hands they shove, 
But never loud enough love's joy to curb ! 

WTiatever all the years to come may hide 
Of hope or fear, of pleasure or of pain, — 
And this young love in its vainglorious 

strife 
Is made up of all these and more beside — 
There is a something none have dared 

explain, 
Which makes it different from aught else 

in life. 

And oh, it matters not our after-dream ! 
E'en this same love upgrown and proven 
true, 



ONCE-UPON-A-TIME, 123 

Or things more worldly, honors, station, 

wealth, — 
How tame, how very tame, shall they all 

seem. 
To that strange time when love so sudden 

grew, 
To that first kiss obtained by willing 

stealth ! 



124 CONSENT. 



CONSENT. 



Sure as daylight follows starlight, 

Or as sunshine follows rain, 
Doth man's manhood yield its birthright 

When to love it may attain ; 
And naught seeking save one presence, 
Glories in its rapturous essence. 

Wondrous law of Nature's making, 
That the brave should seek the fair, 

And that she, all else forsaking, 

Feels his strength and nestles there ; 

Caring naught, so love be constant, 

If the whole world prove remonstrant. 

He is aided by her weakness. 
Conquered by her simple faith, 

And to love's engendered meekness 
Learns to look for conquering strength ; 

Full content to bow his stature 

To her softer, purer nature. 



CONSENT. 125 

As its fragrance to the heather, 
Or its plumage to the dove, 

Are their lives close linked together 
By God's law of perfect love ; 

Brightest boon to human sorrow 

Hope and faith from fate may borrow. 



126 SUNSET. 



SUNSET. — A SKY PICTURE. 

The sun is dying in the west, 
The home he ever loved the best ; 
And though no longer he may stay, 
Yet lingers with the lingering day. 

And ere he sinks into the night, 
He summons all his fading light, 
And tints it with a myriad hues 
Which Nature's hand alone can use. 

Rainbow colors, all his own, 
He paints around his golden throne, 
And sets his jewels in the sky, 
To deck himself before he die. 

Amethyst and sapphire blue, 
Opal, gem of every hue, 
Ruby red and emerald green, 
Topaz pure and diamond's sheen, — 



SUNSET. 127 

These are the treasures, rich and rare, 
That gleam within his circlet fair ; 
And make his chamber, though of death, 
To glow with color's brightest breath. 



And then upon his gorgeous bed 
Slowly he lays his weary head, 
And gathers round him, as a shroud. 
Every soft and fleecy cloud. 

And so he gently sinks to rest 
Within the brightly-tinted west. 
And all the stars their places take 
Around his couch, their watch to make. 



And now the moon, with mellow light, 
Illumes the darkness of the night. 
While all the world its sleep may take 
Until another day shall break. 



128 A HEART-THROB. 



A HEART-THROB. 

In my heart two words are ringing, 
Ringing sad in anguished tone, 

And the one word is — forever, 
And the other is — alone. 

Naught disturbs their plaintive utterance, 
Naught will hush their constant moan, 

But 'tis ever — one forever, 
And 't is always — all alone. 

God in mercy rule my spirit 
More in keeping with His own, 

That forever may not daunt me. 
E'en when echoing back — alone. 

Tune my heart-strings that they break 
not 

Till their strength be stronger grown ; 
Help me feel that if — forever. 

Still I shall not be — alone. 



AND THEN? 129 



AND THEN? 

A BREATH of warmer air, 
A swelling bud upon the willow-tree, 
A blue, blue sky, so bright and fair, 
A softer murmur in the distant sea. 
And then ? 

A robin or a bluebird's flight, 

Or joyous song, so blithe and clear. 

An eager crocus peering towards the 

light, 
All speak the promise of the opening year. 
And then ? 

Ah ! then, the cold, gray, deathlike days 

unnamed. 
The snow-clouds and the weary snow, 
The blustering winds which blow so half 

ashamed, — 
And winter grimly smiles, but does not go. 
And then ? 

9 



130 AND THEN? 

Then do we hope no more, 

But sit beside the fire, crushed and drear ; 

Till, ere we know, Summer flings wide 

the door, 
And June is here ! 

And then ? Ah, then ! 



In the warm sunshine, and the joy 
Of rosebuds, and the soft green grass, 
Why, we forget — and all annoy 
The treacherous spring maintained doth 
pass. 
And then ? 

Then the loud-babbling brook, 
The mountain-side, the birds, the breeze, 
The hum of insects, and the shady nook. 
Where summer winds play tunes upon 
the trees. 
And then ? 

The level fields, the browsing herds, 
The sea-shells on the beach, the ocean's 
roar, 



AND THEN? 13 1 

The* sunrise and the sunset — these are 
Nature's words, 

Which whisper to man's soul forever- 
more. 
And then ? 

Ah ! then the subtle, nameless charm 
Of youth and love and hope, the moon- 
light walk. 
The ecstasy, the pain, the trembling arm 
Upon another's laid, low murmured talk. 
And then ? 

Ah ! why seek further? Is it not 
Sufficient answer that the world is glad ; 
So glad, that all its past, forgiven and 

forgot, 
Is now as naught ? that life and love go 

mad, — 
That June is here 1 



132 HER LIKENESS. 



HER LIKENESS. 

Who is my Love? It needeth not to say ; 
Enough if I but whisper what she be, 
And then none other canst thou dream is she. 
For who but she may all her charms display? 
Her heart is guileless as the new-born day, 
Yet seemeth all aglow with wilful glee. 
So filled is it with love's sweet witchery. 
Her chestnut hair gleams with a golden ray, 
Beneath her deep-fringed lashes brown eyes 

show, 
And in her dimpled cheek, so soft its touch, 
The rosy flush of morning loves to lie. 
Doth need it more to speak that thou mayst 

know, 
O Love, who she may be ? Are there two 

such ? 
Ah ! now thou know'st, and yet thou dost not 

fly! 



LIFE'S BOAT-SONG. 133 



LIFE'S BOAT-SONG. 

When our arms are young, when our 

arms are strong, 
How joyous we pull on the stream of life ! 
We float with the tide, we rest on our oar, 
We feel we can easily reach the shore, 
If rocks come in sight, or the wind goes 

wrong, 
Or the rolling waves should rouse up in 

strife. 

When our arms are old, when our arms 

are weak, 
How we look to our oars as we slowly 

float! 
We keep close to the shore, on the shady 

side. 
We seek from the ripples and currents 

to hide. 
And we know that if once it but spring 

a leak, 
We shall find our doom in the sinking boat. 



1 34 TEMPT A TION'. 



TEMPTATION. 

Who can forecast, until temptation come, 

If lie shall stand or fall ? 

It happens to us all 
To plan upon occasion what to speak ; 
But when occasion shows, by some 
strange freak 

We rarely say our speech, 

Or words within its reach. 
But talk a different tongue, or else are 
dumb. 

Nor can we better tell how we may act 

When fate, as if in wrath, 

Shall cast across our path 
A prize, that through dishonor we may 

win, 
Yet none shall know or even guess our 
sin. 

Our heart's most cherished hope 

Is now within our scope ; 
Who dares to say what Satan may exact? 



TEMPT A TION. 1 3 5 

Nor you, nor I, nor any mortal man — 
For men have failed, deemed good, 
And men, deemed bad, withstood. 

Thus circumstanced, the tempter's touch 
of shame. 

Too weak we are to battle at such game. 
And that old prayer we know. 
Thus taught us long ago — 

" Into temptation lead us not," it ran. 



136 INSIGHT. 



INSIGHT. 

Have we stood beside the bier of our 

hopes, 
And seen them buried one by one from 

sight 
In the sad, relentless grave of Failure, 
And then, bereft of strength to dare 

again, 
Gone forth to die ? 

Have we stretched out our hands 
To Heaven in prayer, and cried aloud to 

God, 
In anguish of the soul, to give us 

help. 
When those we loved the best were called 

away, — 
And no help came, and we were left 

alone 
To weep, to mourn, ay, e'en perhaps to 

doubt ? 



INSIGHT. 137 

Or have we felt the crushing nothing- 
ness 
Of pride and wealth and worldly reverence, 
The taunting mockery of Self, when once 
Our wholesome life is touched by wan 

disease ? 
And, all our cherished strength proved 

vanity, 
We know the presence of the grim Shadow 
Hovering o'er us and cannot urge it off ? 

If these or such as these have been our lot, 
Perchance we may have learned that 

Peace and Rest 
Oft lie through Sorrow's gate, which, 

though it stand 
Wide-open for us all, we never pass 
Because we would, but only when we 

must. 



And may God's help be theirs who, hav- 
ing passed. 

Can find no home within ; but when they 
hear 



138 INSIGHT. 

The heavy hinges creak to close, un- 
taught, 

Would free themselves from seeming 
barriers ; 

And so burst forth and seek escape. 

What good ? 



A HYPOCRITE. I39 



A HYPOCRITE. 

The self-righteous man wears the hypo- 
crite's mask; 

To seem not to be is his well-mastered 
task, 

And the hem of his garment, though cov- 
ered with texts, 

Is only a means to mislead and perplex. 

His preaching is orthodox, so are his 

views. 
And the " spirit of missions " might walk 

in his shoes ; 
His gifts are well known, they are part of 

his game, 
And of men being spoken of, add to his 

fame. 

His life is so perfect, he 'd ne'er conde- 
scend 

To be seen with a sinner, much less be 
his friend. 



140 A HYPOCRITE. 

And the rags of a penitent rouse his dis- 
gust, 
As anything lowly and tattered e'en must. 

" Not as he is, I thank thee, O Lord, am 

I too," 
Is his muttered thanksgiving when guilt 

comes in view. 
" My sins are all hidden from sight of the 

world. 
So my banner of righteousness ne'er need 

be furled." 

The garb of humility fits him not well, 
'T is too tight in its set for his virtues to 

swell ; 
He needs the repose of his own roomy 

stays, 
In which he can turn at the same time 

two ways ! 

But do what he will, he can get little 
ease. 

Nor his prayers nor his deeds do his con- 
science appease; 



• 



A HYPOCRITE. 141 

And the flesh of his skeleton trembles 

with dread 
Lest the bones be disclosed ere yet he 

be dead. 

Like the moth, whose soft plumage is 
killed by a touch, 

The contact with truth his proud bear- 
ing would smutch ; 

And he 'd show as he is to the veriest 
fool, 

With God as his precept and Self as his 
rule. 



142 A SONG. 



A SONG. 

Blow, blow, ye winds ! 

Through the tops of the bare trees blow; 
For my soul would whisper unheeded 

The things that were — long ago. 

The wild-flowers bloom and the sun 
shines, 
And the bright birds sing as before, 
But my heart-throbs beat in the world 
alone, 
There is no one to answer them more. 

And men are as strong, and women still 
love. 
And childhood is ever sweet ; 
But I long in vain for the hope I once 
knew. 
And for words I dare not repeat. 



A SONG. 143 

Blow, blow, ye winds ! 

Through the murmuring pine-trees 
blow; 
But never again shall I hear the step 

That I watched for — longf ao:o. 



144 HER COMING. 



HER COMING. 

A MOORISH LOVE-SONG. 

In the love-light and the twilight, 

Underneath the trysting tree, 
There, while waiting for the moon-night, 

There, while waiting, Love, for thee. 
With the white-light of the star clouds, 

And the booming of the sea, — 
Like a dream-song in the distance, 

Was the coming of thy feet, 
With a pattering insistence 

Answering to thy heart's quick beat. 
And I wondered, as I conjured 

Hopes of how we two should meet. 

Oft I wandered toward the pathway. 

Oft I wandered back again, 
'Neath the young light of the moon-night, 

'Neath the shadows of the fen. 



1 



HER COMING. 14$ 

And a cricket chirped beside me, 
And a wild bird upward flew. 

Through the bushes in the starlight 
There was some one coming through ! 

And I heard a whispered murmur, 

Which was music to my ear, 
And I felt a heart-throb beating 

To my ov/n heart very near. 
And the moonlight and the cloud-light 

Were as nothing to me then ; 
For all Nature seemed but love-light 

As we wandered down the glen, — 
As we wandered in our heart-might 

Far beyond the world of men. 



146 STRANDED. 



STRANDED. 

Farewell, O dream of happy youth ! 
That dream which once I thought to be 

so fair ; 
For then I had the strength to do and 

dare. 
But now — I know the bitter truth. 

Too fast I urged my wilHng boat, 
Too hard I tugged upon the easy oar, 
Until at length it would endure no more : 
It broke, and I was left afloat. 

In vain I sought to guide my course 
With what perchance might still to me 

remain ; 
But as 't would mock my tired, weakened 

strain, 
The more the boat did seem to toss. 



STRANDED. 147 

And those passed by whom once I led, 
But none could stop to give me aught of 

aid, 
For some were selfish, others were afraid; 
And then I wished that I were dead. 

For I could see no hope save death ; 
My strength was waning, night was near 

at hand, 
I was alone, and out of sight of land. 
So faint I scarce could draw my breath. 



Yet I was let to live ; and torn 
And bruised I landed on the rocky shore ; 
But I may use my poor frail boat no more. 
And the high hopes I had are gone. 



148 MV DEJSr. 



■ MY DEN. 

A ROOM, low-Studded, not too large or 

grand. 
Where everything obeys the master's only 

hand, 
Its sacred dust e'en left in peace to lie 
Secure from prying of the housemaid's 

eye; 
With deep-set windows, — two I deem 

enough. 
Well curtained with some thick, dark- 
shaded stuff. 
Admitting light, but keeping out the glare, 
And tempting restfulness to linger there. 
With here a chair and there a sofa's 

curve. 
Which when not used for books as seats 

may serve ; 
A desk for writing, a fireplace for cheer, 
A drugget on the floor, by use made dear ; 



MV DEN. 149 

And, more than all, the well-filled shelves 

around. 
Rising from floor to ceiling at a bound, 
Lining the room on all its sides but one, 
Where stands the chimney — and my 

picture 's done : 
Except that floor and window-sills do 

share 
Unnumbered volumes which the shelves 

won't bear ; 
And scattered manuscripts are flung about 
In ways that some might deem a woful 

rout. 
But which to him who holds their secret 

clue 
Reveal an order marvellous but true. 
Add some engravings, good and old and 

rare, 
A bust or two selected with fond care ; 
And he with such a home content may 

rest, 
And let old Time e'en do his worst or best. 



:50 TWILIGHT. 



TWILIGHT. 

Day and Night once met together, 
In the golden summer weather, 
On a field of purple heather, 
Far from human sight. 

Each in turn displayed its power 
To the utmost in that hour. 
Dreading to be forced to cower 
'Neath the other's might. 

And though making deep obeisance, 
Each maintained its being's essence. 
Till they found each other's presence 
Hard beyond compare. 

So they softened in their bearing, 
Each the other's glories sharing. 
And the other's colors wearing 
On the whispering air. 



TWILIGHT. 151 

Thus a new light was created, 
And to mortals it was fated, 
Whene'er Day and Night are mated, 
Its soft rays to know. 

And they call it Twi-light ever, — 
Two made one upon the heather ; 
And thus linked they reign together, 
In the evening's glow. 



152 A HACKNEY-COACH. 



FROM THE STORY OF A HACK- 
NEY-COACH. 

A FRAGMENT. 

But the saddest thing that ever I bore, 
And many sad sights did my lot entail, 
Was a weeping woman, haggard and pale. 
On her way to the hospital's friendless 
door. 

Her face was hard, but her voice was mild. 
And her manners told of a better day. 
But now on my cushions outstretched 

she lay. 
And I saw, when she moved, she was great 

with child. 

She moaned to herself as we hurried 

along, 
And her muttered words I was forced to 

hear, 



A HACKNEY-COACH. 153 

And they struck on my heart like some- 
thing drear, 
So full were they of grief and wrong. 

Neither maid nor wife nor widow was she. 
Her mother rank was all that she owned ; 
And if ever sorrow for sin atoned, 
I wis she was pure in her purity. 

Deceived by one on whom she had leaned, 
A devil in heart, though a man in shape. 
She thought him a god ; and when no 

escape 
Remained from harm, she found him a 

fiend. 

He had won the faith of her girlish heart, 
And she trusted his love with a perfect 

trust ; 
But false to his vows, to that love unjust, 
His baseness had played but a traitor's 

part. 

And now, alone, and broken by shame, 
Her time was come; and with no hand 
to save, 



154 A HACKNEY-COACH. 

Helpless and hopeless, she longed for the 

grave. 
And thus to the hospital gates we came. 

But scarce were they passed, ere, groaning 
with pain, 

That pain which a woman alone may- 
know, — 

Her face grew white and her pulse grew 
slow, 

And she never spoke word upon earth 
again. 

Her worn-out frame had no strength to 

endure 
The strain which Nature imposed that 

day,— 
For alone she had striven to fight her way, 
And work had been scarce and food was 

poor. 

But now she was gone ; and the child 

went too. 
Which seemed to be better, for God 

knows best ; 



A HACKNEY-COACH. i55 

And what could his life have been but 

unrest, — 
And a pauper's grave was their only due. 

But the angels' tears fell in drops from 

the sky 
As the sod was laid on tlie new-turned 

earth ; 
Then the sun burst out, and a rainbow 

birth 
Seemed to welcome a soul to its home 

on high. 



Oh, man, how long shall hideous lust 
Efface the image of God from your heart ? 
More low than the brutes in its hellish 

part. 
It rouses a loathing beyond disgust. 

To slay a man were a pardoned sin 
Compared to the guilt its promptings 

urge; 
For the death of a soul is its joyless dirge, 
And a coward's part it ever hath been. 



IS6 A HACKNEY-COACH. 

To crush a fond woman's happy faith, 
To leave her a wreck on the shores of 

night, — 
Better, far better to Icill her outright, 
Than thus to abuse your manhood's 

strength. 

There 's never a word in the tongues of 

earth 
To express the base vileness of human 

lust. 
" Dishonored of men, of God accurst," 
Is the brand that 's stamped on its evil 

birth. 



\ 



ASPIRATION. 157 



ASPIRATION. 

Higher, higher, 
Purified by suffering's fire. 
Rise, my soul, until thy flight 
Pierce its way to Heaven's light. 

Clearer, clearer. 

Until, ever drawing nearer. 

There shall burst upon thy sight, 

Through the darkness of earth's night, 

All the eye of faith may see, 

Set in God's eternity. 



158 SAVED. 



SAVED. 

God's chastening hand was laid upon my 

life 
With such a grievous force of woe, that 

crushed 
And stunned I fell beneath its heavy 

weight 
Full prone to earth, and there I prostrate 

lay; 
And cared for neither day, nor night, nor 

time, 
Nor aught beside, save only death itself, 
Which would not come. 

Sleep fled my eyes, and even tears 
Their wonted boon refused ; all hope 

seemed dead. 
I could not pray, I scarce indeed could 

think. 
No pain I felt, but only something tense, 



SAVED. 159 

Like iron bands, tight-drawn about my 

head; 
All else was apathy, save that I knew 
The bitter consciousness of life. And 

thus. 
Alone, with madness pregnant in my brain, 
I waited for my fate. 

Then in the night, 
When all about me slept, One entered in, 
And he was clothed in white, and round 

him shone 
A dazzhng light, like that of day; while on 
His face there was such look of peace 

and love, 
I wondered ; yet I could not speak or 

move. 
And as I gazed he gently stretched his 

hand, 
And touched me on the brow, and then 

sleep came. 
And day and night went by, and still I 

slept ; 
And when I woke, I knew my doom was 

past. — 
I was let live again, and learned to feel 



l6o SAVED. 

That what God does is even for the best. 
But who he was that came to me that 

night 
I know not ; only this I know full well, 
'Twas some one sent from God. 



RECOMPENSE, l6l 



RECOMPENSE. 

The curses of poverty- 
Lightly descend 

On those who through duty 
Their blessings defend. 

They fear not its presence 
Their heart-throbs to still 

For love in its essence 
Defies every ill. 

They ward off its smiting 
By joining their hands. 

Their strength, by uniting, 
Resists its commands. 

When love keeps the door, 
E'en troubles must fail, 

Though pressing us sore 
In their power to prevail. 
II 



l62 RECOMPENSE. 

And if there be sorrow, 
We all must endure ; 

Yet hope can we borrow, 
If love is but sure. 



4 



HE.- A SOLILOQUY. 163 



HE. — A SOLILOQUY. 

Very handsome must he be, 
If he thinks to marry me ; 
And in all that he may do 
He must prove a lover true. 

His position must be such 
As no carping tongue can touch ; 
E'en a crest, if his by right, 
Would not spoil him in my sight ! 

Chivalrous and brave, of course, 
He must be, without resource ; 
For a coward I despise. 
And all the very name implies. 

Youth and vigor he must own, — 
These, indeed, for much atone ; 
With a form of athlete grace 
Fit to match his manly face. 



1 64 HE. — A SOLILOQUY. 

If he 'srich, why, very well, 
But on this I would not dwell ; 
Even were our hopes not high, 
We might manage, — he and I. 



Good ? Oh, yes ! that 's well enough ; 
But he must not be a " muff " — 
And I think perhaps a spice 
Of the " Divvel " 's rather nice ! 

Still, he must be honest, kind, 
Pure in heart and bright in mind; 
Do for others all he can, — 
Be, in short, a gentleman. 

Intellectual, famous ? No ; 
Into such things I won't go ; 
Let him only prove to be 
Everything he seems to me. 



Yes ; but somehow my ideal 
Wakes sensations much too real ! 
Can it be that while in sport 
I have let my heart get caught ? 



HE. — A SOLILOQUY. 165 

Oh, how dreadful ! Do I blush ? 
Listen — some one 's coming — hush ! 
How the thoughts I. would not own 
Suddenly to facts have grown ! 

^Tivas his picture that I drew, 
All unconsciously, 't is true ; 
And if now no sign he make, 
'T is no use — my heart will break. 

That's his step; and now — Oh dear! 
How I 'm trembling ! — he is here ; 
Does he love me ? Yes — and I ? — 
Foolish little heart, good-by ! 



1 66 CERTAIN PEOPLE. 



CERTAIN PEOPLE. 

The goody-goody people in this world 

Show well, 't is true. 
But little praise, in sooth, do they deserve 

For what they do ; 

And even less for what they do not do, 

For to resist 
Bespeaks temptation, which they never 
feel, 

Talk as they list. 

Too cold for passion and too weak for sin, 

They gain no blame. 
E'en Satan scarce exerts himself to track 

Such worthless game ! 

Good, from their ignorance to compass 
wrong ; 
And should they try. 



CERTAIN PEOPLE. 167 

Such dire mistakes they would be sure 
to make, 
They 'd go awry ! 

And yet they play their part with con- 
scious pride, 
To folly blind ; 
And deem themselves, indeed, superior 
far 
To all mankind. 

Well, let them ; little harm, if little good, 

Can come of such. 
But, Heaven be thanked, all men are not 
ahke, — 

'T would be too much ! 



1 68 ASLEEP. 



ASLEEP. 

Through the half-closed shutters the 
sunbeams played, 
And they danced on the wall in glee, 
While the wind's soft breath through the 
casement strayed, 
So fresh from the summer sea ! 

And quiet reigned in the darkened room, 
And a sense of peace and rest, 

With no sound save that of the ocean's 
boom, 
And the twitter of birds in their nest; 

And the crooning note of a mother's song, 
As she rocked her darling to sleep. 

And saw that now it would not be long 
Ere the angels their watch might keep. 

And the song died away in a gentle sigh, 
While the breeze and the sunshine 
smiled. 

For the mother's eyes closed dreamily, 
And she slept with her sleeping child. 



WOULD I? 169 



WOULD I? 

Had I known thee proud and false, 
would I ? 

Ah ! then, Love, oh, urge me not. 
Death had seemed to be but nigh, 

Had I been by thee forgot. 
But I had no need to die ! 

Had I known thee hard and cold, would I ? 

'T is not. Love, for me to tell ; 
But, oh ! ask me not the why, 

For thou know'st I loved thee well. 
Now, no need to ask me why ! 

Had I known it could not be, would I ? 

Yes, O Love, though silently, 
Had Heaven answered not my cry, 

I had loved on lovingly. 
But Heaven answered to my cry ! 



1 70 WOULD I? 

Had I known thy heart not mine, would I ? 

Then, O Love, I 'd made no moan. 
Thou hadst heard nor sob nor sigh, 

But in Heaven thou hadst known. 
Love, ;//y Love, for aye and aye I 



i 



WE SING BUT A SONG. 1 71 



WE SING BUT A SONG. 

We sing but a song, and our childhood 's 
gone, 

Ere yet we 've had time to breathe ; 
But little we care and little we mourn, 

For the roses are buds, thatwe wreathe. 

We laugh but a laugh, and our youth has 
flown, 
And we know not how or when ; 
But we look with surprise as the truth 
we must own, 
That we may not live it again. 

A smothered groan, and our manhood 's 
done, 
And we tread with more careful ways ; 
And our looks are bent towards the set- 
ting sun 
With a silent and anxious graze. 



172 WE SING BUT A SONG. 

A whispered prayer and a murmured 
hope, 
And the years that have known us so 
long, 
Now hold us no longer within their 
scope ; 
We have sung to the end of our song. 



HE COMES I 173 



HE COMES! 

He comes ! my lord and hero comes ! 
All Nature wakes to life, to give him 

greeting. 
The very trees have heard his step, 
And whisper mid their trembling leaves. 

He comes ! 
The flowers raise their drooping petals. 
And answer back, He comes. 
The air is filled with fragrance, and the 

sun 
Throws brighter beams to gild him as 

he comes. 
Now must my tell-tale face subdue its joy, 
Lest it may show too much. Be stilled, 
O throbbing heart, — beat not so loud ; 
Away, ye mantling blushes of my love ! 
But, ah ! what folly ! even now my steps 
Run riot with my will, and force me on. 



174 HE COMES! 

That I may catch his first embrace ; nor 

let 
The flowers and trees steal from me what 

is mine, 
Mine only. Lo ! his step is near. He 

comes ! 



CONTENT. 175 



CONTENT. 

We cry aloud, or in our secret heart, 

For things we have not; and we deem, 

if so 
That God may choose our foolish prayer to 

know, 
We then shall be content : we play our 

part; 
For 't is this very urging, under which we 

smart. 
To gain these things our hearts compel us to, 
That helps us do, and makes our striving 

grow 
Until we gain what first impelled our start. 
To be content would be to stop our lives, 
And bid the world stand still ; no effort then 
Would we essay ; and thus in vain on earth 
Contentment seeks a chance of easy birth. 
Yet happiness may come to him who strives, 
Whate'er his rank amid the world of men. 



176 TO J. R. S. 



TO J. R. S. 

Fair critic of my verse, 
Endowed with wisdom and with wit, 
And, gift more kind, with sympathy. 
And yet who nobly scorn'st. 
Though tempted oft too near to it, 
To tip Truth's sting with flattery, 
I owe thee many thanks. 

Not only for thy skill, 
Which fits thee like Minerva's helm, 
Nor for thy patience, sorely tried, 
But for the gracious will, 
Pointing thy words, that they o'erwhelm 
By neither praise nor blame ; yet hide 
In no way thy just views. 

It happens so with thee,. 

To share with Charity her crown. 

That e'en thy sharpest thrusts, though true. 



TO J. R. S. 177 

Ne'er seem to disagree ; 
No poison lurks within to drown, 
In dregs of malice, truth's fair due ; 
And thus they win their way. 

And in thy willing praise. 
Spontaneous in its very flow, 
Despair itself must flee away ; 
So that in both the ways 
The critic's power is wont to show. 
To urge or warn thou claim'st thy sway. 
Once more I thank thee, friend. 
July, 1887. 



178 OUR HOPES. 



OUR HOPES. 

Blest dreams of the future, 

Or near or afar ; 
Bright thoughts that we nurture, 

Our hopes to us are. 

E'er prompting our actions 

For better or worse ; 
Love's happy distractions 

To fortunes perverse. 

What though that so often 

They live but to die ! 
Does their being not soften 

Life's wail to a sigh ? 

Though smitten by Fate's rod, 
They yield not their sway ; 

But rise like the sun-god, 
As day succeeds day. 



OUR HOPES. 179 

God's angels, e'er guarding 

Our lives from despair ; 
Heaven's bucklers, retarding 

The arrows of care. 

Ah ! without them, indeed, 

A sad fate is ours ; 
But that they intercede. 

We must die like the flowers. 



1 80 SHE. — EX A CTIONS. 



SHE. — EXACTIONS. 

Very human must she be 

From the start, 
If she would be loved by me 

With my heart. 
No calm goddess, mild and staid. 

Me could hold. 
E'en though every limb were made 

Out of gold. 

She must be a maiden pure 

In her thought, 
If her charms would me allure, 

All unsought. 
No one selfish in her mind, 

Seeking gain, 
Ever honest love did find — 

Oh, the pain ! 

She must be a woman true, — 

That she must ; 
Proud a woman's work to do, — 

Sacred trust. 



SHE. — EX A C TIONS. 1 8 1 

No coquette with pretty face 

Would succeed, 
E'en with every winning grace, 

Me to lead. 

Beauty's power she may not claim 

As her right ; 
But for this she holds no blame 

In my sight. 
Eyes of brown or eyes of blue, 

Matter not, 
So the soul be brave and true, — 

Not a jot. 

She may have a winsome face, 

If she will, 
Yet with e'en a homely grace 

She 'd fulfil 
All I 've sought so long, and more, 

I confess. 
So her heart I might feel sure 

To possess. 

Oh, with such an one I swear — 

Holy tie ! 
All my life and love I 'd share, 

And for aye ! 



1 82 SELF-CONQUEST, 



SELF-CONQUEST. 

Conquer but self, the mightiest foe in 

life, 
And of no other need'st thou stand in 

fear; 
For none will care to prove himself the 

peer 
Of him who vanquishes in such a strife. 

The fight must be endured from day to day, 
For oft thine enemy will seem to die 
But to rouse up anew, for he is sly 
As he is strong, and hard indeed to slay. 

But easier shalt thou find thy task ere 

long. 
By constant practice growing in thy 

might ; 
And struggling as thou dost on side of 

Right, 
Success is sure if but thine arm keep 

stronjr. 



4 



LINES. 183 



LINES 

WRITTEN ON THE FLY-LEAF OF " A DAY 
IN ATHENS WITH SOCRATES." 

The cultured style, the gracious ease, 
Each word conveys, is sure to please. 
The vigorous thought of ancient sage 
Maintained intact on every page ; 
And yet its meaning made so clear 
That he "who runs may read," nor fear 
A false construction put upon 
The grand old words from Helicon. 
What English mind, so pure and true, 
Has dared these classic themes construe, 
And placed before a modern age 
Philosophy's most sacred page, 
I wot not. This alone I know, — 
Such jewels in such setting show 
Not only the translator's art. 
But kindred soul and mind and heart. 

December, 1886. 



1 84 LOVE AND FAIN. 



LOVE AND PAIN. 

Sing, sing, ye whispering trees, 
Gently swaying in the breeze ; 
Murmur soft and murmur low 
What the listening air would know, - 
That by bands we may not sever. 
Love and pain are linked together. 

Pain, which only joys create, 
Pain of ecstasy and fate. 
Pain which hope intense begets. 
Pain too sweet to force regrets, — 
Such pain as love, and love alone. 
Can e'er provoke or yet atone. 

Who such pain would once forego. 
So the love were sure to show ? 
Who but deem such love more dear, 
Since it once was tinged with fear.'' 
If any such there chance to be. 
Then all unworthy he or she. 



A BOOK'S A BOOK. 185 



A BOOK 'S A BOOK. 

IN ANSWER TO E. L. D. 

A BOOK 's a book, but 'twixt two books 

't is plain 
The difference lies in what they may 

contain. 
Each in itself its destiny upholds, 
And in its leaves its own sure fate infolds. 
The one we cherish, venerate, and prize ; 
The other gasps for air and quickly dies. 
The one, by fame caressed, immortal lives ; 
The other seeks the peace oblivion gives. 
On one the future smiles with beckoning 

hand ; 
The other helps the housemaid's fire 

expand. 
But which to which no man may dare 

foretell ; 
To time alone the future yields its spell. 



1 86 A BOOK 'S A BOOK. 

To-day we fail, to-morrow we succeed ; 
The fact remains, — the why is why^ 

indeed ! 
E'en Genius' self can claim no fairy wand 
To give it gaze into the far beyond. 
Men live, whose fate the world ne'er 

cares to learn, 
Yet o'er whose ashes incense fires burn. 
Men die, whose lives seem redolent of 

fame, 
But, soon forgotten, scarce exist in name. 
What our own luck may be, dear friend, 

who knows, 
Since fortune such uncertain favor shows ? 
But little need we care — or you or I — 
" Sic transit " — bah ! you know the rest. 

Good-by. 



RECONCILIA TION. 187 



RECONCILIATION. 

The world is fading from my anxious 
sight, 
The sunset shadows cling about my 
path, 
I hear the echoes of the coming night ; 
Great God, look down in mercy, not in 
wrath. 
And help me, through Thine own eternal 

Son, 
To say unquestioning, Thy will be done. 

The world was dear, perhaps too dear, 

to me. 
With all its joy, its hope, its cherished 

love, 
And hard it was sometimes, O Lord, to see 
The narrow path which only leads above. 
Forgive my wandering steps, for sake of 

One 
Who taught us first to say. Thy will be 

done. 



I iS 8 RECONCILIA TION. 

Forgive the pride which made my heart 
rebel, 
My want of faith, my weak and doubt- 
ing soul. 
The dread of death, which holds me in its 
spell. 
And which e'en hope of heaven can 
scarce control. 
O Lord, in pity grant, ere life be run. 
That I in trustful love may say, Thy will 
be done. 

May this my prayer, unworthy though I be, 
Through Christ's dear grace be wafted 
to thy throne. 
And through His death may I, from sin 
set free. 
When death doth come, not feel I am 
alone, 
But, fought the fight, through Christ the 

victory won, 
Say, with unfaltering faith, Thy will be 
done. 



HUNTING-SONG. 189 



HUNTING-SONG. 

Hark on the hills to the huntsman's horn, 
Joyously greeting the day new-born, 
Waking to life the echoes of morn : 
Echoes rolling, echoes pealing, echoes 

crying ; 
Lower falling, falling lower, echoes dying. 

Hark to the bay of the deep-mouthed 

hound, 
Catching the scent on the moist-laid 

ground. 
Startling the crags and the rocks around : 
Echoes booming, echoes thundering, 

echoes flying ; 
Softer sinking, sinking softer, echoes 

dying. 

Hark to the ring of the rifle's note, 
Setting the wild, weird echoes afloat. 
As the quarry sinks in the reedy moat : 



190 HUNTING-SONG. 

Echoes trembling, echoes moaning, 

echoes sighing; 
Murmuring fainter, fainter murmuring — 

gasping — dying. 



SOMEBODY. 191 



SOMEBODY. 
A maiden's lament. 

I AM listening and waiting and longing ; 

And Somebody 's waiting too ; 
For his spirit to mine is calling 

As only some one's could do. 

I can feel his presence about me, 
Though he 's not within my sight ; 

And I know that he 's speaking to me, 
For I hear him in the night. 

And his tones are so sweet and tender. 
And his voice is pitched so low. 

That the words he thus seeks to render 
In my ear alone can go. 

But the wooing he still is urging, 

Oh, I cannot answer back ! 
Though I feel all my pulses surging 

With the love that he must lack. 



192 SOMEBODY. 

And so here I linger on hoping 
That Somebody soon may come, 

And claim what for him is but waiting, 
And make in my heart his home. 



GO, WARRIOR, GO! 193 



GO, WARRIOR, GO! 

When the stirring trumpets blow, 

Go, warrior, go ! 
Wait not for to-morrow's sun. 
Wait not for the foeman's gun. 
Wait not till the love-song 's done. 
When the trumpets stirring blow, 

Go, warrior, go ! 
Tra-titera-tra — tra-titera-tra-tra ! 

Hark ! the call to meet the foe ! 

Go, warrior, go ! 
Leave to women sigh and tear. 
Leave to slaves their caitiff fear. 
Leave all else save sword and spear. 
When the trumpets stirring blow. 

Go, warrior, go ! 
Tra-titera-tra — tra-titera-tra-tra ! 

Warrior hearts the sound well know. 
Go, warrior, go ! 
13 



194 GO, WARRIOR, GO! 

Bravely let thy banner fly, 
Bravely shout thy battle-cry, 
Bravely win or bravely die. 
When the trumpets stirring blow, 

Go, warrior, go ! 
Tra-titera-tra — tra-titera-tra-tra ! 

Round thy waist thy falchion throw, 

Go, warrior, go ! 
Haste to greet the trumpet's call, 
Haste to guard the breach and wall, 
Haste, let naught thy soul appall. 
When the trumpets stirring blow. 

Go, warrior, go ! 
Tra-titera-tra — tra-titera-tra-tra ! 

Lo ! thy charger waits below, 

Go, warrior, go ! 
Hark, the wild alarum bell, 
Hark, the battle's magic spell. 
Calling, calling — now, farewell. 
When the trumpets stirring blow, 

Go, warrior, go ! 
Tra-titera-tra — tra-titera-tra-tra ! 



A CONCEIT. 195 



A CONCEIT. 

The velvet sound of the falling snow, 
Which is heard by the eye alone, 
As it nestles down on its brother flakes, 
With a touch like a silvery tone, — 
So soft, so gentle, so murmured its fall. 
Oh, the wonder is, that it falls at all. 
With its eerie whirl and its whispered call. 
The wintry day is still and calm. 
As I gaze through the frosted pane. 
And the air is filled with the falling snow. 
Like the floss from a tangled skein. 
Such quietness reigns, I can almost hear 
Its sound as it drops on the casement 
near. 



196 AN ECHO. 



AN ECHO. 
July 4, 1776. 

Like a great rock from Truth's high 

mountain hurled, 
By giant force, into the mid-ocean 
Of old-time dynasties and rights divine, 
Whose mighty ripples, gathering into 

waves. 
Relentless beat upon the shores of 

Time, — 
The scratching of the goose-quill pen, 

which wrote 
The Declaration of our Country's Rights, 
Resounded on the universal air ; 
And echoing far and wide throughout the 

world, 
Proclaimed the sacred name of Liberty 
To all mankind. 



CONFESSION. 197 



CONFESSION. 

We wandered o'er the moonlit path, 
And o'er the tangled heather, 

And both our hearts took up the cry, 
Of whether. Love, oh whether ! 

Yet neither knew the other's doubt. 
As on we walked together. 

But foolish task it proved to be, 

Each from the other hiding 
What both our souls had long confessed. 

But had not dared confiding ; 
And e'er we either of us knew, 

Love took up his abiding ! 

And then, more foolish still it seemed. 
For now 't was past concealing. 

But each was loath to speak the word, 
Or make the first revealing ; 

And yet our hearts, in wild alarm. 
Were both to Love appealing. 



198 TIME'S EPITAPH. 

How long indeed it may have been — 
This tumult of wild beating — 

I know not ; but some words I heard, 
Which need not here repeating ! 

And when we wandered back that night, 
Love knew our place of meeting. 



TIME'S EPITAPH. 

On every man that dies Time writes an 

epitaph ; 
And some are blurred with tears, and 

some provoke a laugh ; 
But from his verdict none may hope to 

hide, 
'T is writ in letters certain to abide ; 
And gives each one the mark his life did 

make, — 
Saint, sinner, fool, philosopher, or rake. 



TRUTH. 199 



HOPE. 

Like the hand in the darkness we treas- 
ure 

Which guides our lost footsteps aright, 
So Hope comes in Fortune's displeasure, 

And leads us anew to the light. 



TRUTH. 

Truth fights for place in every human 

heart, 
Though crushed too oft by things of 

baser part ; 
As e'en amid the weeds the sluggard's 

garden grows, — 
In solitary bloom appears a single rose. 



I 



200 ARIADNE. 



ARIADNE.i 



Upon the shores of Naxos' Isle, vine- 
famed, 

Low nestling, mid the blue ^Egean waves. 

Whose lapping tides flung kisses on the 
beach, 

With lover's frequence, all unsatisfied; 

Where crimson-tinted clouds, the day- 
light's torch. 

Each morn enflamed, and fragrant winds, 
cool-blown. 

From off the Southern seas, lulled sleep 
at night ; 

Where tropic verdure glowed in tree and 
flower, 

1 Ariadne was the daughter of the King of 
Crete, and the wife of Theseus — afterward King 
of Athens. On the voyage to Attica he basely- 
deserted her on the island of Naxos ; and, over- 
whelmed by grief and despair, she destroyed her- 
self. She was renowned throughout Greece for 
her great beauty. 



ARIADNE. 20 1 

And birds and butterflies, in gorgeous 

train, 
Filled the bright air with dazzling rain- 
bow hues, 
Like glittering jewels through the ether 

sped, — 
On such an isle as this, upon such shores. 
Ere yet the eastern sky showed tinge of 

red, 
There Ariadne came. Alone she was. 
Her errant maidens straying far behind ; 
And on her beauteous face — and she 

was famed 
Throughout all Grecian lands for beauty's 

spell — 
There was such radiant look of joy and 

love, 
'T was wondrous to behold, — like to a 

dream. 
And hastening on, and ever towards the 

beach, 
So keen her constant gaze, to seaward 

cast, 
She seemed as 't were some one to seek, 

perchance 



202 ARIADNE. 

That way pursued, — and Theseus slept 

on board 
His ships that night ! — but now she was 

alone, 
And more alone, indeed, she might 

not be ! 
For from her there had passed, to her 

unknown, 
Her life's best life, her very hope of life, 
And with it her proud woman's faith in 

love ; 
And by her own fair hands, bereft and 

mad. 
In isolate despair she soon must die. 
But this she knew not then, nor did 

suspect, — 

For 't was but yester eve that Theseus' self, 
All glorious in his manly form and face, 
Of stature tall, of strength like to the 

gods, 
Had led her from the hot-blown strand, 

on which 
They strolled, to where, beneath an 

orange-tree. 



ARIADNE. 203 

Full-blossomed, their talk might be in 

scented shade ; 
And there beside her, on the flower- 
flecked grass. 
Himself he cast, and spoke, low-voiced, 

of Crete 
And far-off Athens and of other themes. 
Perchance, which lovers' lips so well do 

con. 
And he had told her that to-morrow's 

morn 
They should set sail for home ; that he 

himself, 
UnwiUing, must upon his ships that night 
Abide, that all might thus be sure pre- 
pared 
To meet the south wind's early, vagrant 

breath, 
Which best would waft them on their 

lingering course. 
— And thus he spoke, as, since their stay 

at Naxos, 
They twain had dwelt beneath a shep- 
herd's roof ; 
For this one boon had Ariadne craved, 



204 ARIADNE. 

Not loving well the ocean's wild unrest, 
Nor the close crowding of the vessel's deck. 
Nor had he gainsaid what her fears did 

urge ; 
Too well it suited with his base-born plan. 
And then he sought her promise to awake 

betimes, 
That so no chance of failure might ensue, 
He granting her indulgence to remain 
Upon the shore because she feared the 

ships ; 
On which, most solemn compact did she 

make — 
Deeming him kind, and much in haste 

to sail — 
That Phoebus' self should not outstrip 

her start 
To meet him at the dawn, — never, indeed, 
Suspecting treachery or foul deceit. 
Then had she bade to Theseus her good- 
night. 
With loving kisses on his lips impressed. 
With loving, soft embrace about him cast ; 
When toward the waiting boat he quickly 

sped, 



ARIADNE. 205 

Upon his face a smile men call accurst ; 
But she, all-trustful, hastened to the hut. 
And knowing she must be alone that night, 
Called to her handmaidens to enter in, — 
For many had she (whom they all did love). 
Being the daughter of the king in Crete, — 
And bade them, one each hour, to wake, 

till day 
First set his faintest rose-blush in the sky, 
When they should rouse her, minding not 

her sleep. 
And urge with her their way toward the 

ships. 

And thus it was — to keep her promise 

true — 
That at the dawn she wandered to the 

beach. 
So radiant in her face she might have 

played 
In tournament with yonder glowing sun, 
And robbed him of his prize ; for if such 

thing 
Might be, love-born love could e'en the 

diamond's 



2o6 ARIADNE. 

Cold, pure form instil with rays unknown 

before, 
And make it so ablaze with wondrous 

light 
That men could scarce its dazzling gleam 

abide. 
And Ariadne's face was not of stone. 
Nor was her heart, than diamond far 

more pure. 
Or hard, or cold; in both love held its 

sway. 
And now for Theseus, with exultant 

hope 
Each moment to behold his face, she 

sought. 
Unwitting of his flight, and hastening 

each 
Quick step which closer brought her to 

the ships ; 
For there she knew — his own words told 

the tale — 
He lay that night, and now perchance 

awaited 
But her coming, at the sunrise call. 
To make fast sail for Attica's low shores. 



ARIADNE. 207 

Likewise, the ships were anchored far 

away; 
For Naxos had no harbors through its 

coasts 
For goodly vessels, — such outside must 

lie. 
Dependent on the slow-paced boats for 

shore, — 
And thought of this, which pushed her 

journey's end, 
Urged her quick feet to even quicker 

tread. 



And when at length the promontory 

reached 
From whence the fleet e'er came in view, 

her heart 
Beat fast, and rose-cloud blushes stole 

her cheeks ; 
For had not Theseus promised there to 

meet 
His love, and guide her to the boats 

himself. 
That thus the hated waves she need not 

brave 



208 ARIADNE. 

Alone, which bore them from the safer 

land? 
But as the high ascent she gained, out- 
breathed, 
Nor Theseus there, nor e'en the fleet in 

sight, 
She stood aghast, one moment moving 

not. 
The early morning mists were drifting 

slow 
Above the land and sea, and soon would 

leave 
The bright horizon-line full clear to 

view, 
When naught her far-off vision would 

obstruct 
For weal or woe, for hope or dismal 

doubt. 
And now from place to place she moved 

in search ; 
But as she gazed and gazed, abroad, 

around, 
No trace of ships could Ariadne see. 
Nor even catch the sound of laboring 

oars 



ARIADNE. 209 

Bending beneath their rowers' sturdy 

strength, 
Or masked by distance into muffled roll. 

As thus she stood upon the rock's high 

crown, 
One foot advanced, firm planted on the 

ledge. 
Her form half forward bent in eager 

poise, 
Its silken draperies swaying in the 

breeze, — 
Her loosened hair tight cinctured round 

her brow 
By amber bands, and flying far behind, 
Like golden threads of light, upon the 

air, 
Which the glad zephyrs tossed in wanton 

play 
In myriad tangled skeins of glistening 

glow, — 
Her eyes more blue than bluest cloud 

o'erhead, 
Yet seeming black, so stern their strained, 

fixed gaze ; 

14 



2IO ARIADNE. 

With arms outstretched to seaward, and 

a look 
Upon her face, beseeching, yet amazed, — 
She seemed a very goddess, earth-belate, 
Striving her far-off chariot to discern, 
And marvelHng much its unexpected 

loss. 

But as conviction forced its pointed 

barbs 
More fiercely in her brain, her balance 

fled; 
And when assured the ships were passed 

from sight. 
And Theseus gone, — nor word between 

them spoke, — 
She knew full well they ne'er would seek 

return, — 
Nor he, nor they, — too deep their treach- 
ery reached. 
One flash of light woke consciousness of 

truth ; 
Of truth so base it slew her as she stood, 
And everything grew dark. Her heart 

stood still, 



ARIADNE. 211 

And paleness, as of death, her brow o'er- 

spread. 
Upon the gods she called, that she might 

die; 
And would have cast herself into the sea, 
But slipped, and fell upon the ground, so 

faint, 
By fierce despair o'erwrought, she could 

not move, 
But prostrate lay in agony of woe ; 
And with her glorious face turned prone 

to earth, 
She strove to think it some too hideous 

dream. 
Or some base nightmare of the aching 

brain, 
From which she would awake ere long 

to sense. 
And see once more him she had loved 

so well, — 
So well that, leaving all, kindred and 

home. 
And many more towards whom her heart 

beat dear. 
She followed hi7n alone in all the world. 



212 ARIADNE. 

Rising at length, frenzy-beset and wild, 
Her face agleam with passion's fire and 

scorn, 
Her beauty e'en more beauteous in its 

might, 
She struck her heaving breast, and cried 

aloud 
In accents scornful - strong, though 

checked at times 
By choking, helpless tears, love-forced 

but hard : 
" Be still, O heart ! beat not for one 

whose troth, 
Thrice-plighted, proved no safeguard to 

my love. 
From death assured I saved him ere we 

wed, 
By giving, at my life's own risk, the clew 
Which guided him beyond captivity, 
And freed him from the Minotaur's fierce 

jaws. 
Agape already for his longed-for prey ; 
Whom having slain, he purchased goodly 

ships. 
To flee, immediate, Minos' vengeful ire, 



ARIADNE. 213 

Which much he feared, and begged me 

follow him 
And be his wife. My foolish feet led on ; 

and when 
At Paros forced by stress of food to 

land, 
We there were wed. An ancient Parian 

priest 
Performed the rite ; and when low kneel- 
ing at 
The altar's base, the sacrifice consumed, 
And portions fair-distributed to all. 
He took my hand in his — but no, not 

now. 
Not now would I profane such hour by 

aught 
That links it to this hideous one. Away, 
Away, fair thoughts and dear, ye all are 

dead, 
Forever dead ! With Theseus did ye die, 
And he has gone for aye. O Juno ! 

Queen ! — 
Not Queen, but Mother now, — who 

watchest o'er 
My coming fate and his, the yet unborn, 



214 ARIADNE. 

Whose cruel father cared not e'en that 

once — 
One little once — his eyes might rest on 

him, 
Help me to curse this foully-dealing 

man ! 

" And yet 't was he first taught me love — 

and hate ! 
This last, not till to-day, — e'en now 't is 

gone; 
For how could Theseus do such wrong ? 
'Twas he first oped the close-shut door- 
way 
Of my maiden heart, and entering in did 

light 
Its dormant fires with love's bright torch, 

until 
At length they blazed with passion's 

mighty breath, 
Made pure by love's inborn intensity. 
Thus, love he taught me first ; and so 

'tis hard, 
Far harder to forget, — too long its power 
Hath held my soul supreme, enwrapt 



ARIADNE. 215 

In naught but joy, —and yet I must for- 
get 
Or die ; no way lies 'twixt these twain, 

save hate, 
Which will not come, and madness, curse 

of gods. 
Oh, Theseus, couldst thou not have 

waited still ? 
Waited but a little time, — for e'en now 
I feel, intuitive, the dreaded pain 
O'ertake my heart, which thou so fre- 
quent soothed 
With kindly deeds and words more 

kindly still. 
And though I did not die, thou know'st, 

as I, 
It might be soon ; the learned men so 

advised. 
And then, hadst thou been free, and I 

not known 
The blackness of thy heart ! Are all the 

gods 
High-holding on Olympus' sacred height? 
Or are they grown so weak that Chaos 
rules ? 



2l6 ARIADNE. 

Or is it, Love, that thou wast sleeping ? 

I know not, 
Nor do I care, indeed, to know auglit 

more. 
Theseus is gone, and Ariadne soon — 
Ay, very soon — must die, it matters not. 

" O love ! who teachest us such won- 
drous things 

We knew not e'er before, nor e'er could 
know: 

That we ourselves are naught alone, 
unmate ; 

That self-forgetfulness is earth's great 

A gift which close behind contentment 

walks. 
And makes life's service but a happy 

play ; 
Who castest our impurities aside. 
Of mind and heart, so that our love prove 

chaste ; 
Who newer breath into our nostrils 

breathes, — 
The very breath of gods, divinely fine. 



ARIADNE. 217 

The essence of a mighty strength, past 

man's 
Control, yet in its guidance ever true. 
Making e'en pain and death itself a joy, 
So that the loved one suffer not, nor 

sigh ; 
Who from our hearts dost pluck their 

fairest buds 
To fashion them to greater size and glow, 
And make their beauty and their fra- 
grance sure. 
That they may live forever, love's own 

flowers, — 
Oh, why dost thou thus trait'rous prove 
to men ? " 

And then did Ariadne cast herself 
Once more upon the ground in weary 

guise ; 
Her eyes, sad-set, drooped heavy 'neath 

her lids, 
While in their look a wild, strange light 

still played. 
But, passion-spent, she crouched upon 

the rock. 



2l8 ARIADNE. 

And murmured to herself in gentle tone, 
Her maidens, circling her around, intent. 
"Ah, me!" she spoke, "what fate is 

mine on earth ! 
How can I doubt what Theseus told me 

true ? 
And yet, to be thus left, thus left alone, 
A helpless prey to grief's slow, lingering 

death, 
When life and love ne'er seemed so fair 

before ! — 
But no, I must not doubt ! O thoughts 

unkind. 
To tempt such unbelief, I heed ye 

not! 
Men die each hour, but love can never 

die ; 
E'en death can never conquer love. 
The body is not love, as some men think ; 
Love is the ever-soul of perfect faith. 
Immortal as the gods ! yet well I know 
Love hath one death, and only one, but 

sure. 
And the false dart which brings it low 

must by 



ARIADNE. 219 

His hand be hurled who holds love's 

other hand 
In truest trust,— naught else can injure 

love." 
And now she breathed a tired, weary sigh, 
And plucking some few leaves which 

near her grew, 
Good, as she said, for quench of thirst, 

or cool 
Of fevered blood, - and both she needed 

much, — 
She bruised them with a stone, to prove 

the juice. 
And placing them within her lips, their 

strength 
Imbibed. And none suspected wrong, 

but deemed 
She, loving much to wander in the fields. 
Had learned the uses of the herbs and 

roots, 
And thus perchance had done for rest 

and sleep. 
Vain trust ! each leaf was deadly, as she 

knew. 
And left no after-mark to point its deed. 



2 20 ARIADNE. 

Then resting on the nearest maiden's 

lap 
Her weary head, she slept, or seemed to 

sleep. 
But murmured, ever and anon, one name, 
The name of Theseus, and of love for 

aye; 
And once she mentioned Crete and 

Minos, king, 
And seemed bestruck by fear that they 

were nigh. 
Thus the unresting hours moved on till 

noon. 
When, turning with quick pain about her 

heart, 
Three gasping breaths she urged, as if 

for speech ; 
But speech was well-nigh gone. " Fare- 
well, O love," 
The words she seemed to say, then spoke 

no more ; 
And thus it was — that Ariadne died. 

O Ariadne ! who, though kingly-born. 
Felt woman's heart beat full within thy 
breast, 



ARIADNE. 221 

And in thy god-like trust, sustained by 
love, 

Held all men in thy sway, save one 
alone, 

And he most potent for thy good or 
ill; 

Who walked the earth like some em- 
bodied soul 

Set free, to teach to men, ere now un- 
taught. 

Love's sweetest song, — its own humil- 
ity; 

Who, left to die upon a foreign shore 

By one whose perjured heart ne'er beat 
with thine. 

Though pledged threefold, as spouse and 
king and man. 

And yet forbore to charge his soul with 
guilt,— 

Though once, indeed, a curse thou didst 
essay, 

When grief's first passion struck its 
mighty blow ; — 

Whose love too mighty proved his truth 
to doubt, 



22 2 ARIADNE. 

Though close beset by certainty of wrong, 
But brimmed thy cup of woe with love's 

best tears, 
Thy handmaid Hope, thy fount thine 

own pure soul, — 
To thee belongs all faithfulness of 

love, 
Far greater than Penelope dare claim. 
Or others, less bespoke in mythic lore. 
Not e'en the great immortal gods them- 
selves ; 
They all did live for love. But thou for 

love 
Didst die, — a willing sacrifice, thine 

own ! 
And lo ! the gods — thy mind and soul 

so pure — 
That thou mightst shine, ensemplar, set 

on high, 
Of constancy and love — seven bright 

stars 1 
Of whitest lustre to thy keeping gave ; 
And in their steadfast gleam, emblem 

befit 

* The Northern Crown. 



ARIADNE. 223 

Of thine undying faith, by love made 

strong, 
Thou yet shalt live, love's life thine 

own for aye ! 

Farewell, then, Ariadne ! glimmering 

faint 
Through the blue ether of thy far-off 

home. 
Thy stars' pale rays, untired, e'en yet 

descend 
As pure and bright as once thou wert on 

earth, 
But with them naught of Theseus or 

distrust. 
Thou knowest all, yet love still holds 

its sway. 
Farewell ! 



Bomtn^t'Mim^^f ®tc. 



THE CRITIC'S BRUSH. 

What a rainbow of colors the critic 
Doth hold in his hand analytic ! 

And he makes the poor poet 

To ruefully show it, 
If he chance in a mood that 's mephitic. 

At the first he will paint him deep red^ 
By the praise he happens to shed ; 

Then he turns him quite blue 

By a harsh word or two, 
Or ash-gray by his prophecies dread. 

And e'en green he may make him appear, 
When he daubs him with ridicule's leer ; 
And he bleaches him white, 
When he scares him with fright 
By predicting a hopeless career. 
15 



2 26 THE CRITIC'S BRUSH, 

And his skin with yellow he brushes, 
When in spite he condemns all he touches ; 

And he makes him look black 

By his angry attack, 
And bright purple whenever he curses. 

He does him up brown by a squint, 
And no chance for the future will hint. 

Then he brings a pink glow 

By a hope he may throw ; 
But crushed strawberry 's his favorite 
tint! 

Yet while all these colors he uses, 
'T is rarely that ever he chooses 
To try that one alone 
Which all else might atone, — 
For the color of gold he refuses. 

Thus the poet, chameleon-like, glows 
With the hues his critic bestows ; 
But it must be confessed. 
Though he 'd glad stand the test, 
That the color he needs most ne'er shows ! 



THE BUMBLE-BEE. 227 



THE BUMBLE-BEE. 

A thrilling sound my listening ear caught. 

Burton. 

Oh, the droning and intoning 

Of the humble bumble-bee, 
Like the sound of some great organ 

Heard across the quiet sea ! 
It may speak of God and Nature, 

But 't is terrible to me, — 
For like stern old Calvin's sermons, 

It 's suggestive of the D , 

And it brings a sense of torment 

From which gladly I would flee, — 
Does the humming and the thrumming 

Of the humble bumble-bee ! 

Oh, the droning and intoning 
Of the humble bumble-bee. 

Like the rumbling of the storm-wind 
On some far-off rocky lee ! 



228 THE BUMBLE-BEE. 

How it fills my soul with terror 

When he whiffs too close to me, 
With that vague, uncertain motion 

That 's so horrible to see ! 
For if in my hair entangled, — 

And such thing I know can be ! — 
While he fumbles and he tumbles 

In his efforts to get free, — 

Oh, the droning and intoning 

Of the humble bumble-bee, 
Like the deep, impatient groaning 

Of the great, unquiet sea, — 
Would cease awhile, I doubt it not ! 

But with what malicious glee 
Its little sting would play away, 

With its one and two and three, 
As children on pianos strum, 

Is not quite unknown to me ! 
Nor is it, I am very sure. 

To the humble bumble-bee. 

Oh, the droning and intoning 
Of the humble bumble-bee. 

Like the wild and plaintive moaning 
Of some wind-entangled tree ! — 



MARTHA STARR. 229 

There are three of them now coming, 

And they 're coming straight for me ! 
Oh, avaunt, ye wretched creatures ; 

To your wildernesses flee, 
With your monotone suggestive 

Of the tortures of the D ! 

You humming, bumming, thrumming 
thing ! 

Oh, you horrid bumble-bee ! 



MARTHA STARR. 

Martha Starr she used to be, 
Mardie she was called by most ; 

And a prettier girl than she 
All the village could not boast. 

But she married and grew fat. 
Which her beauty much did mar ; 

And they called her, after that, 
Nothing else but — "Mardi Gras." 



230 THE TWINS. 



THE TWINS. 

" So alike," the old nurse said, 
While she shook her solemn head, 
" That it 's very hard to tell 

How to jedge of sich ! " 
And you do not sometimes know, 
Such resemblance these twins show, 
When you see them even now, 

Which of them is which ! 

Then they both were young and small, 
And their blessed baby squall 
Did not help one to decide 

Which was Jack or Gill. 
For they both would cry in tune 
Morn and evening, night and noon. 
And all other little things 

They 'd alike fulfil. 



Both were fed with the same spoon ; 
Both cried out at once, " Goon, goon 



THE TWINS. 231 

Both the same big cradle shared, 

While apace they grew. 
Neither had a speck of hair ; 
With blue eyes they both did stare ; 
And in all their movements queer 

They were one — not two. 

But at last it awkward grew 

Not to know the which from who j 

And a plan was hit upon 

To distinguish them : 
One was tied with ribbons blue, 
For the other pink must do ; 
And in this way it seemed safe 

To dispose of them. 



This at first was well enough. 
And it saved us many a huff. 
While the two were kept apart, 

All was well, I trow ; 
But alas ! when dressed each day. 
Both the strings aside we 'd lay. 
And in fastening them again 

They 'd get mixed somehow ! 



232 THE TWINS. 

So in time we let it go, 
Telling all the neighbors so ; 
And from that day unto this 

No one knows who 's who ! 
And indeed I doubt if Gill 
Knows himself from Jack until 
He has asked him, " Who am I ? " 

And he says, " You ^re you / " 



THE PARSON'S WOOING. 233 



THE PARSON'S WOOING. 

The most absent-minded of men was he, 
And he always will be, I trow ; 

But the funniest thing he ever did 
I 'm determined to tell you now. 

'T was years ago : but it still makes me 
smile 
To call up that day of my life. 
He had just taken orders, and seemed to 
think 
He ought also to take a wife. 

Of course I had somewhat expected this, 
But not in the way that he took ; 

For he knelt by my side like knight of old, 
With a rapt and serious look. 

And, " Dearly Beloved," he then began. 
But forgetting what he would say. 



234 THE PARSON'S WOOING. 

He kept straight on with the rest of the 
prayer — 
Till I rose in a startled way. 

Then, catching the sense of what he had 
done, 
He waited to say nothing more, 
But stammering something I could not 
hear, 
Made a frantic bolt for the door ! 

And a letter came the next afternoon, 
In which he sought all to explain, 

And said he thought that 't was better to 
write 
Than to risk such a scene again ! 

The kneeling there with his eyes half shut. 
And a perfect silence around. 

The opening words of the prayer on his 
lips — 
Had proved too familiar ground. 

And he had gone on as had been his wont — 
But what more is there need to say. 

Since here I sit as his Reverence's wife 
And tell you this story to-day ? 



1 



TEMP us FUG IT. 235 



TEMPUS FUGIT. 

We were wandering in the belfry 
Of an old and famous church ; 

And ere long we reached the clock-tower 
In our high-ascending search. 

And we gazed upon the prospect, 

As we felt we ought to do, 
And were just about descending, 

When a new sight met our view. 

There before us stood the dial 

Of the cumbrous, quaint old clock, 

Fastened firm by iron stanchions 
In its lofty bed of rock ; 

And around it thickly clustered 
Flies of every size and shape. 

As they were its natural guardians, 
Shielding it from wrath and rape. 

" Ah," my friend said, " Tempus fugit ; " 
And I looked up in surprise. 



236 EPITAPHIC. 

" Why," he queried, smiling gravely, 
" Don't you see the clock and flies ? " 

" Time flies ! so they are," I answered ; 

And 't was almost worth the pun. 
Then we wandered slowly downward, 

And the great clock tolled forth, one ! 



EPITAPHIC. 

His tissues were lymphatic ; 
His temperament phlegmatic ; 
His mind epigrammatic ; 
His manner most dogmatic; 
His heart was democratic ; 
His tone aristocratic ; 
His bearing plutocratic; 
His voice was most emphatic ; 
His gestures quite dramatic; 
His tastes they were aquatic; 
His trouble was hepatic; 
His treatment hydropathic ; 
His death was in an attic; 
His friends, although ecstatic. 
Sent garlands emblematic, 
And thought him most erratic ! 



THE MOUSE AND THE LADY. 237 



i>. 



THE MOUSE AND THE LADY. 

A HOME EPISODE. 

"A mouse ran up my lady's stocking, 
And bit her knee, — oh, dear, how shocking ! 

A JOLLY mouse, a social mouse, 

Who else indeed would dare ? — 
Approaching softly, boldly crept 
Beneath my neighbor's chair. 

She, all unconscious, sewed upon 

A pair of tattered hose, 
Unmindful of marauder near 

Her sacred woman's toes. 

I quiet lolled in cosey chair, 

Reading a rare old book ; 
When suddenly — a shriek, a jump, 

The very rafters shook ! 



238 CONTRADICTIONS. 

What happened then ? What happened 
there ? 

I cannot tell thee more. 
But sojne thing, by a savage kick, 

Was landed on the floor ! 



CONTRADICTIONS. 

BEFORE. 

" I HATE him ! " savagely she cried ; 

" Why don't the man propose ? " 
For he was handsome, young, and rich, 

A paragon of beaus. 

AFTER. 

" I love him," so she fondly said ; 

But to her heart she told, 
" Oh, what a lucky match for me ! 

They say he 's made of gold." 

AFTER ALL. 

But quickly did he find her out, 
Which brought things to an end, 

And then he simply jilted her, 
And married — her best friend ! 



TIVO KINDS OF TEA. 239 



TWO KINDS OF TEA. 

Oh, the tea in Boston Harbor, 
When a nation would be free, 

Was thrown so quickly overboard, 
Because 't was taxed tea. 

But the tea in Boston Harbor 
Took deep root beneath the sea. 

And came again to Boston town. 
But this time as Liber-iy ! 



240 A PLAIN HINT. 



A PLAIN HINT. 

He needs a hint ! 

To-night he asked me for a flower, 

A wretched flower ! 
When, without stint, 
If he had asked me — well, you know 

In that same hour ! 

Next time, I vow, 

I '11 tell him that it is not right. 

Unless — unless — 
He means — somehow — 
That 's it ! I wonder if I dare ? 

T/ien I '11 say, yes ! 

ENVOY. 

And she did dare ; 
And being won, 
When he was won, 
They made a pair, 
Yet were they one ! 



FLORA. 241 



FLORA. 

We wandered in the moonlit lane, 

Just she and I together, 
And sweet the apple-blossoms' scent, 

The perfume of the heather; 
We looked into each other's eyes, 

And felt 't would last forever. 

We had no need of words to tell 
Of what our hearts were thinking. 

It was enough from love's full cup 
We both were madly drinking; 

And as we gazed up towards the skies, 
We caught the bright stars winking. 

And thus we sauntered slowly on, 
She nestling close beside me, 

Until I almost heard her heart, — 
That heart she 'd ne'er denied me. 

At length we reached her humble home, 

Where love so oft would guide me. 

16 



242 FLORA. 

Then on the sofa we sat down, 
And wondered at each other ; 

And each one thought, though naught was 
said, 
Could there be such another ? 

But quick the door flew open wide, 
And there stood — 7iot her mother ! 

But some one with a bowl of milk, 
Which soon was set before her, 

When down she jumped, but gracefully, 
My love, my beauty. Flora, — 

For she was but my black-and-tan ! 
You see how I adore her. 



ENIGMAS AND CHARADES. 243 



ENIGMAS AND CHARADES.^ 



Take a word of cloth-yard fame, 
Innocent of praise or blame ; 
Speak it softly, and no woe 
Echoes in your voice so low. 
Then, but breathe upon it once, 
Plain the change to every dunce ; 
Speak it now with muttered breath, 
And the sound breeds sin and death. 
Thus, a fearful spell you wreak 
Just by breathing while you speak ; 
And a word, before so plain. 
Now with horror thrills the brain. 

II. 

Two rivers and the end of man 

My whole word form, — a wondrous plan ; 

' For answers, see Table of Contents. 



244 ENIGMAS AND CHARADES. 

For ere it stands a perfect thing, 

Sad torture must its being wring. 

First, flayed alive it has to be, 

Its eyes torn out, its heart set free ; 

And after that, with ruthless zest 

You boil its carcass, all undrest. 

And sometimes, not content with that. 

You pound it fiercely till it 's flat ; 

And having thus your dire work wrought, 

You say a grace, and deem it naught. 



Three very little words, — if, for, and 

ajid, — 
In tongues, one modern, two of ancient 

use. 
Do make one English word, so-called. 
Though plainly culled its root from 

Spanish land. 
'T is thought by men much comfort to 

provoke ; 
But all its promise often ends in smoke. 



ENIGMAS AND CHARADES. 245 
IV. 

M.Y first I am and my second^ too ; 
For my thirds my son would fully do ; 
My whole is a thing you scarce could lose, 
Which artists, doctors, dressmakers use. 

No wife this riddle her husband must ask, 
Lest the answer prove a difificult task. 



My first and second Dryden sings ; 

A poet's name in echo rings, 

And to my whole completeness brings. 



THE END. 



41 
I 



